Freedom
by Feffervesce
Summary: Follows Finesse. Upon returning from his thirty-year absence, Unaril Dawnstar finds that reintegrating into his old life is more difficult than he expected. When circumstances deteriorate from bad to worse, the young man makes a life-altering decision that might never be undone. Forming bonds with those he never would have expected, Unaril finds freedom in progress.
1. Shackled

**Hey, readers!**

 **This story strongly differs from its predecessors, in that the adventure and action you may have familiarized yourself with in the others are now highly toned-down. Drama/romance have been dialed up. If you don't care for angst, you probably won't care for this. ;)**

 **Also, although the rating may bump up to M in the future, I've got this currently** **rated T for language and sexual content. And gore, maybe, depending on how it ends up.** **I tend to have about ten different endings planned when I start these sort of things.**

 **Lastly, I've got a surprise coming in this story that you all may or may not like. I know that's cryptic, but bear with me here.**

 **On that note and if you're still here, welcome. :)**

* * *

Chapter 1: Shackled.  
Setting: Final chapter of Reawakening.

* * *

"Nyela, you have a visitor."

The sea-blue-haired man remained anxiously silent as his twin pushed open the door of the woman in question's room, the aged hinges giving the slightest hint of complaint in the form of a high-pitched tune. Sarion's rich tone of voice had glinted with humor and joy, but the only thing Unaril felt as he caught sight of the woman he knew as the love of his life was apprehension.

The thing about Nyela was that her reaction to his return was unpredictable. He knew her well, he loved her, but he had no idea how she might respond to seeing her dead husband after thirty years.

Just yesterday, she had been his wife, his _expecting_ wife. They'd been young and in love and teetering on the brink of losing everything, which only fed their passion for one another. The looming threat of him having to die to revive her little brother felt real. Unaril still had not, despite seeing Julian Silverpaw alive and well and decades older, fully allowed the weight of it all to sink in.

However, his version of yesterday was, for the rest of the world, thirty-some years prior to today.

"Nyela," Sarion beckoned again, and she cut him off.

"Yes yes, a visitor, and no name? How elusive." A partial, familiar laugh came that reminded Unaril of softened bells. "Tell Raphael to hold his damn horses." She pulled out a simple silver necklace. "Three decades and he still acts like his arrival ought to be heralded like royalty."

The playfulness in her tone brought a smile to Unaril's eyes. His eyes rested on her entirety; she wore a sleek gown, dyed the color of storm-clouds, which draped loosely over her soft curves. She was, indeed, softer than he knew her to be. Thirty years, including with them childbearing, had stolen her hard muscle and replaced it with gentle dips and swells, her hips now wider, rounder, and her arms smoother and fuller.

She had not yet turned from her dresser. Her magenta waves and curls trickled over her shoulders and down her back in an uneven 'V', wild as he knew them to be, and every part of him ached to trace his fingers through those curls again. Despite the pain he felt in having broken their bond, he still felt tethered to this woman in every way, and yet at the same time, a loud voice in his head kept him from acting due to the man standing beside him and the bond that man shared with Nyela.

Nyela had been with Sarion for thirty years now. They had matured, raised a family, whereas Unaril still felt like he'd barely lived at all. Compared to them, he really hadn't.

"It's not the Rogue," Sarion chuckled, stepping in further and beckoning Unaril to walk into the room with him.

"Can you clasp this for me?" she asked, holding the necklace up over her shoulder as she drew her long hair into a messy ball with one hand. The darker twin reached out and did as she asked, and then gently tugged her shoulder to turn her. "Nyela…"

She finally twirled toward him, her dress fluttering subtly at her ankles, and the smile on her face froze as her eyes fell on Unaril, who abruptly felt very out-of-place, like he shouldn't be here.

Her golden eyes locked on his, her smile slowly dousing itself. Her gaze followed his tattered clothing, the broken armor pieces, the same thing he'd worn the last time she ever saw him. Not a single word found its way from her mouth, and after a few seconds of absolute stunned silence, Unaril finally made the first move.

"Ah," he began tentatively. "Good morning," he forced the words out, and his voice sounded foreign to himself. He glanced at his brother, whose eyes twinkled, and then back to Nyela. A step toward her drew no reaction, and he let a typical, gentle smile finally fall into place. "So, long time no see, for you…yeah?" He reached up and brushed his blue hair from his face, back behind his long ears, but the shorter locks simply fell back aside his cheekbones.

Her mouth formed a few silent words, and her cheeks had paled significantly. She was seeing a ghost, and her response hadn't yet formed.

Sarion made a subtle jerk of his head for Unaril to advance forward, his features still holding a long-ingrained smile. Unaril approached her and tentatively reached out for her hand. She let him take it, and he did by looping one finger under three of hers and then running a thumb over her small knuckles. Her eyes fell on their hands, watching them in a form of odd fascination. She turned her wrist so their fingertips pressed together softly, and then let hers slip sideways and lock into his. Even the touch of her hand in his nursed his ailing heart.

He'd been smiling slightly all the while; it was his most natural state, and he watched as Nyela's shocked expression gradually altered into one of relief, her honey eyes projecting a streak of joy and her pink brows curving in astonishment.

"You're here," she finally blurted out, her voice cracking.

"I'm here," he nodded back to her. "I'm so sorry I left. I didn't mean to. I wish I'd—oof!"

She attacked him in a crushing hug that knocked his words right out of his mouth. The side of her face crushed into his chest, her arms squeezed his torso, and she molded to him. His arms curled around her as well; it was all he could do to remind himself that kissing her was off-limits, that as much as he wanted to tilt his head down and meet her, as much as he wanted to scoop her up and ravish her in adoration, he could not. She was no longer his. That was possibly the hardest realization of everything he'd gone through today.

Still, though, he let out an earnest chuckle and hugged her back happily. Her joyous energy, mingling with his as they hugged, rejuvenated him, made him feel for a sweet second as if nothing had changed. That they had not changed.

Eventually she pulled back just enough to place her hands on the sides of his face and crane up, kissing his scruffy cheek once before backing up a step. She nudged Sarion, who'd been observing the reunion with a warm smile, with her elbow.

"You see him too, right?" she half-joked, wiping tears that'd welled up and begun to trickle down her cheeks. The sight made Unaril's eyes sting as well, despite him having seen her what felt like yesterday. Perhaps it was for a different reason.

Sarion lifted his brows, then shrugged, leaning in mischievously to speak. "See whom?"

"Oh, you little-," she scrunched up her face and playfully punched his arm, and then grinned back up at Unaril, despite how watery her eyes looked. "I don't… I mean, you have no idea how long we've waited—hoped, prayed—for this. I just…" she glanced up at Sarion beside her. "The timing alone is crazy. Returning on the day of the twins' coming of age." A few seconds passed, and Nyela stared at him in wonder. "I wasn't even sure you _would_ return," she said a whole lot quieter.

"It wasn't a coincidence," Unaril confessed. "The shard interacted with my last thoughts before...death. I'd wished to see our child - er, children - grown, and that wish was granted."

She seemed to sober a little further. "Oh."

Sarion looped an arm over Nyela's shoulder and gave her a kind squeeze, kissing her hair, and then reached out and patted his brother on the arm happily. "What a day to return. Just in time for our party." He offered a vivid grin. "When you come back from the dead, you sure come back in style. C'mon, let's get you into some better clothes." He beckoned his brother along with him, and Unaril followed reluctantly, wishing to see Nyela a little longer. But, he _was_ wearing a tattered, bloodied shirt and ruined armor.

"You probably still wear my size," Sarion smiled as he took Unaril to another room and pulled open a dresser. "We are twins. If nothing else, mine may be too small. I've gotten a little soft over the past years."

"Which means we are more than likely identical in size," Unaril corrected with a laugh as his twin tossed him a white button-down shirt, long beige shorts, and underclothes. He removed his armor as he spoke. "You were always bulkier than me."

Sarion sent him a look of skepticism. "Nuh-uh."

The lighter twin gave a soulful chuckle. "Yes. Yes, you were. You just didn't realize it because you were preoccupied with brooding and angsting around everywhere."

He ducked as a pair of socks flew over his head.

"I don't _brood_ ," Sarion chuckled back.

"You're the broodiest person I know, and I can say that after having met Sebastian Strom," Unaril finally shucked all of his armor and pulled the clean shirt over his head. It smelled faintly of rosewood oil, way better than old, bloodstained leather.

"Oh yeah, Sebastian. Nearly forgot about that fellow." Sarion leaned against the dresser, half-sitting on it with one leg bent against the edge and one still propped on the ground. "Aw, you clean up okay, despite having been dead thirty years. What does that bring the total to? Thirty-three alive, and one hundred and thirty dead? You're totally losing whatever game it is you're playing." The man's laughter forced a smile to Unaril's face. Unaril's spirits lifted so much when he saw how happy his brother was.

"I wasn't _dead_ , just...out of time."

"You were dead, bro. It counts. I am now the older brother." For effect, Sarion flexed his arms heroically.

"You look the part, too," Unaril motioned toward the silver streaks in the man's hair.

"These are cool. They tell an interesting story," Sarion retorted. "I'll have to tell you about it sometime."

"Yeah, sure," Unaril offered him a teasing sneer, chucking the pair of socks back. Sarion caught them and returned them to the dresser. Shoes really weren't their thing, save for leather boots.

Sarion stood, his own bare feet silent against the wood. Unaril had always been jealous of how silent Sarion's steps were, seeing as the knuckle of his own right-foot big toe always made a faint 'pop' every time he eased off a step, thanks to a wagon running over it when he was nine.

"This has all got to be pretty weird for you," the dark man said calmly, gaining seriousness, walking to face his twin and folding his arms thoughtfully. He tilted his head to the side. "Any way we can make it easier?"

Unaril thought a moment and then shook his head, letting out a heavy sigh. "I'm just glad to be home. Everything else in time. I think the most difficult will be..." He was about to say Nyela, and then stopped, apprehensively looking at Sarion. He licked his lower lip once and then spoke again. "Are the two of you married?" It sounded more accusing than he'd meant it to be, and he winced at his tone.

Sarion didn't seem to pick up on any negativity, though, and he nodded lightly. "Twenty-four years, nearly twenty-five."

Unaril forced his smile. They'd been together nearly as long as he'd technically been alive. So weird.

He recalled his last conversation with Sarion in Ephraim's vaults. He had told Sarion to take care of her. He'd given him his blessing. In a way, he was glad it'd been Sarion and that he'd taken his word, but in another, it hurt even stronger that now whenever he was to spend time with either of them, it would be strained for him. He wouldn't be able to enjoy it fully because he was in love with his brother's wife, and he felt like his own feelings were a crime. He'd have to watch himself, keep a constant filter... It was going to be hard to heal, and it would take him a long time.

Footsteps at the door sounded, and Unaril turned just in time to see his oldest friend. Lucian looked the same as ever, with a mane of snow, a full, defined beard cushioning his sharp jaw, and his typical dark shirt rolled at his elbows. The man loved to wear black. Some things never change.

"They told me you were back," Lucian grinned brightly, his eyes crinkling happily as he walked in swiftly.

Unaril chuckled back and met the giant's hug. "Can't keep me away, no matter how hard they try."

Lucian squeezed his massive arms tightly and then released his friend, giving him a joyful grin and mussing his hair like old times. "You've got a mess of people waiting to see you. Whole tribe, practically. And an entirely new generation for you to meet here, as well. Julian brought his litter, somehow got them all in one place, so never a dull moment today."

"Litter?" Unaril laughed. "Nice to hear he settled down." For good measure, he sent a playful jab into Lucian's ribs.

"Nine offspring," Sarion added in, laughing as Lucian and Unaril began to wrestle like second nature.

Unaril choked as Lucian caught him in a hold. _"Nine?_ That's like _three_ litters!"

He squirmed out of Lucian's arms and tried to reverse the roles as they scrapped for a moment, but then Lucian slid backward lithely into the doorway, standing up straight and smoothing his hair as if nothing had happened. He grinned as he swept out the door before he could be caught. Despite the man's size, he certainly moved like a Druid.

"Come along," the chieftain beckoned both of them after disappearing into the hall. "Time to see your boys all grown up."

It was unclear to whom he was really speaking.

* * *

The ceremony for the twins was simply a formality. It used to be, when the Silverpaw clan still consisted of only Druids, a ceremony in which they would be assigned their specializations. All Silverpaw Druids were first and foremost feral, but if one showed a promising strength in something different, he or she would be encouraged to pursue that as a specialty. Though it was called a 'coming-of-age,' it was rather a situation in which the Druid would be considered a fully-developed and well-rounded member of the tribe and given the resources and a boost of power to become the best of what they could be.

Now, though, seeing as Lucian ran things a little differently and this particular Silverpaw clan was more or less a conglomerate of different races with different backgrounds and classes, this 'ceremony' was more a celebration than anything else.

Basically, it was an excuse to have a massive party. And in the Silverpaw clan, nothing was done halfway. Unaril was nearly jealous of his own sons, of how much food their party had gotten in comparison to his and Sarion's. Which he realized, strangely enough, had only been a few years ago for him. Of course, this party was also for the rest of those born around the same time as Nyela's, so there were far more mouths to feed and people to celebrate, but...still.

Unaril had spent the past six hours catching up with old friends, participating in non-stop socialization, and eating and drinking. One would think that after the kind of day he'd had, having woken up this morning an amnesiac in the basement of a run-down mansion in a corner of a foreign city, he would be tired. But being home and around such positive energy from those he loved had kept him fully awake for hours.

Now, though, things had begun to dial down, and Unaril finally took a break from the excitement by stealing a stroll into the dark orchard, hands in his pockets. He enjoyed the peacefulness present here; last time he'd been around, this place had been a dead scar. Now, he walked among thriving fronds of vibrant flora, iridescent insects buzzing about and amphibian songs. It gave him a strong wave of nostalgia, from living in the Darkshore and Ashenvale forests.

As he delved further into the forest he came upon a tiny grassy clearing, only just big enough that in the center it allowed a faint light from the evening sky to trickle in through the thick foliage and shine a hazy golden beam onto the thick flowery grass forest floor.

He distanced himself from his thoughts and sat down with his back to one of the trees along the perimeter of the clearing, letting his legs stretch out through the plush grass toward the center and his head rest against the bark. His eyes fell shut, and he fell further into a natural state of peace as he listened to the forest sounds and the distant music and laughter from the tribe. The natural energy here was invigorating as it was tranquilizing.

Unaril was unsure of how long he'd spent sitting there dozing off, but his sensitive hearing caught the sound of footsteps nearby. He let his lids flick open, only to see that the clearing before him was now lit by soft moonlight, and everywhere around him the orchard had come to life in the form of luminescent plants and animals thriving and lighting up the forest. Something felt strange here, not quite real, as if it were a dream, or a vision. The world around him felt more vivid, and yet so fuzzy and warped. He wondered if he'd ingested hallucinogens; it felt the same.

He felt far too relaxed to stand, and so he simply held his focus on the soft, distant footsteps that drew nearer behind him. Something in the back of his mind already knew who it was, already recognized the sound of the footsteps and the subtle scent of her clothes on the air, but he didn't move a muscle.

Finally she appeared, walking into his field of vision, and he allowed the sight of her to steal his breath. He'd known she was coming, somehow, and yet she'd stunned him into silence simply through showing her face, which caught the faint blue moonlight like porcelain.

Nyela's eyes fell on his, the two pairs of gold meeting one another for one of the few fleeting times all day. She reached a hand down and took his, pulling him to stand up before her without speaking. Her arms slipped around his torso as she hugged him, her warmth and scent bringing him peace. Her shoulders quaked, and he realized she was crying. She wept against him, and after only a few seconds of their continued contact, he felt an odd spark in his chest, followed by an intense rush of emotions. Pain, heartbreak, everything he'd been feeling all day, now suddenly magnified. He clutched her tighter to himself then, so abruptly overwhelmed with it all that he too couldn't hold back the painful lump that formed in his throat and the stinging in his eyes.

This was so odd; he felt he had to be dreaming, simply because of the way he was reacting to everything and how she felt in his arms. At the same time, he'd never had a dream like this, had never felt one this real. Maybe he wasn't.

The emotions he felt, he somehow knew they were not just his. Something had reignited in their hug, something powerful, something he recognized but chose not to fully acknowledge. He had no idea how those bonding spells worked when it came to resurrection, because he'd never heard of it happening. But he knew one thing for sure: their combined feelings overpowered his mind, and he was, in this moment, completely a slave to those feelings. He knew now with their connection that she still truly _did_ love him, as strongly as the day he'd left. He felt her pain mingle with his own, her love swirling into his.

Her hands slipped up over his shoulders; every sensation right now had become heightened, as well as simultaneously dulled and foggy. His thoughts became scattered, everything but the suffocating levels of adoration and pain between them whisking away. His hands worked without being told and slid to her hips to pull her flush against himself, and the next he knew, she curled her hands around the back of his neck and caught his lips in her own viciously.

The kiss was a force of its own, the bond between himself and the woman embracing him having become even stronger in their reunion than it'd been before, making up for all the years lost. She pressed him against the tree behind him, the two giving into their feelings without thought.

Finally he managed to force himself to take a breath. "Do you feel that?" he asked in a husky, broken tone, still unable to take his hands from her waist, their foreheads still touching as their heavy breaths mingled together.

She nodded back. "The spell," she breathed.

"The bond," he confirmed. "Was it you?"

"No, was it you?"

"Not this time," he allowed a hint of playfulness into his tone.

She caught his last word with an urgent kiss that shattered his resolve.

This was no dream. It couldn't be.

He gave in to her, his pulse accelerating as her hands moved to the buttons on his shirt. The second she touched his bare chest, a shudder ran down his spine, his thoughts becoming so hazy he couldn't tell the difference between reality and his own mind. He took her up into his arms and laid them both down into the soft grass, the two of them shrouded in the darkness of the forest, her beautiful face beneath his only barely visible thanks to the moonlight in the clearing and the glowing flowers in the trees.

His hands curled into hers as they both surrendered into one another, each giving no thought to the consequences or results of their choice.

They remained intertwined, and Unaril rested his face in the crook of her neck as the two regained their breath. He could feel the steady pulse under her hot skin against his lips and how it matched his own perfectly as a result of their connection.

A rumble escaped his chest as he rolled over onto his back in the grass, their physical contact now subdued enough to where he could think clearly. He glanced toward her, and blinked in surprise. She was no longer there; the grass where she'd been laying showed no signs of imprint, and he sat up abruptly.

"Nyela?" he called out in alarm.

No answer.

He called out again, but this time his voice sounded hazy to his ears, warped, underwater. A deeper voice warbled in his ears, incoherent words.

Suddenly his eyes startled open, and he found himself sitting where he'd dozed off under the trees. The clearing still held a gentle golden light that filtered through the canopy, and he had to blink a few times before confirming he'd been dreaming. It'd been a dream, everything with Nyela, everything that had just happened between them.

But it'd felt so _real_. He could remember every little tiny detail, the sights, sounds, smells, feelings, the touch of her skin on his own.

He heard the deeper voice from his earlier confusion sound out again.

"Unaril? You out here?"

It was his twin brother.

Unaril stood quickly and turned toward the voice. "Over here," he called reluctantly, shaking his head to rid it of his vivid memories of the dream. He felt like he'd just done something wrong, something awful to his brother, but on the other hand felt so strongly disappointed it hadn't actually happened.

Sarion appeared through the trees. "A-ha, thought you'd disappeared," the man said enthusiastically, waltzing straight up and throwing an arm over Unaril's shoulder. "Everything alright?"

"Uh, yeah," Unaril frowned a little at the ground. "D-dozed off, I guess."

"No doubt you're tired," Sarion said sympathetically as he caught his expression. "We don't have a lot of room here anymore with all the guests staying over, but we'll find you a bed one way or another."

"Thanks," Unaril nodded in appreciation. He kept feeling waves of unspeakable guilt, followed by relief. That dream had thrown him through a loop; he felt like the mere thought of it had betrayed his brother, yet at the same time, in the dream it was as if no one had existed but Nyela and himself. He supposed that was how dreams were, though. He needed to quit dwelling, to not let it affect him as much as it was.

As they walked back into the party, Unaril immediately locked eyes on Nyela's, and just as suddenly he yanked them away. She'd been laughing with a large group of other elves, and the smile in her eyes as she'd looked at him had been one of pure joy. He was glad to see her like that, compared to the tears present in the odd dream.

Sarion led him into the tree, and then stopped by the ramp as he caught sight of an old friend of both of theirs, a green-haired man called Legalith.

"Legalith," Sarion caught the guy before he disappeared, and Legalith paused and turned.

"Yeah, bud?"

"Do you know if we've got any free rooms?"

"Silverpaw says they're packed tonight," Legalith shook his head, then looked at Unaril for a few seconds. "Why, you need a place to sleep?"

Sarion nodded in Unaril's place. "If they're all full, that's fine. Nyela and I can give up ours for the time being, at least until we can find a proper room once they clear out."

Legalith sent them both a happy nod and took off out the door.

"Where will you stay?" Unaril prodded. "I can just as easily shift and sleep in the forest, you know."

"I'll just tell the twins to lend me one of their cots; they've got to room together tonight anyway, and they won't mind me. I probably won't sleep much tonight, as it is." He patted Unaril on the back heartily. "Nyela can stay with Sephira if she'd like."

The twins. Sephira. Sarion and Nyela's children. Unaril nodded and let Sarion lead him up to his room. The giant tree was for the most part empty and quiet; everyone else was outside, downstairs, and Unaril knew he'd be out by the time his head hit the pillow. A good night's sleep might be what he needed to process all of this properly. Well, as long as said sleep did not involve some sort of super-emotional sex dream, that is.

Sarion dropped him off at the room and disappeared back down the ramp, and Unaril closed the door, turning to face the room.

He didn't realize how long he stared at the room in silence, the faint lighting from glowing lamps on the end tables casting shadows onto the floor. Finally his feet carried him to the bed, and he sat down onto it, resting his elbows onto his knees and letting his head hang into his hands. He released a weighted sigh, his tense shoulders aching. It'd been a long, weird day.

His thoughts delved deeper and deeper, his mind running wild despite his body crying out for sleep. The light of the setting sun in the archway near the balcony faded until it was no more; the ambiance of the room changed from a warm glow to true nighttime, with lunar lanterns being the only sources of visibility other than his own eyes.

He finally laughed at himself. Earlier he'd called Sarion the broody one, but now he was rivaling that title.

A single knock at his door and the turning of the handle caused him to lift his head, though, and before he could steel himself, Nyela eased into the doorway and closed it behind herself. Unaril felt a strong wave of déjà vu hit him. If this had been in, say, the forest, he might think he was dreaming again. Maybe he still was. Maybe he'd fallen asleep on the bed and this was his mind torturing him again.

"Sarion said you'd be sleeping here. You've been distant," her voice somehow sent an electric, hot pulse through his veins, despite her genuinely kind tone. "From everyone, really."

He inhaled a single, quiet breath. "In my defense, you Silverpaws certainly host one hell of a party. Even I needed a break," Unaril smiled up at her, finally coaxing his legs to bring him to an upright position. They felt stiff.

Nyela held a half-filled glass between two fingers, and she lifted it to her lips and sipped the bubbly liquid lightly as she watched him with an unreadable stare. Afterward she offered him a partial smirk.

"I haven't been able to keep you in my sight for more than seconds at a time," she prodded. "Surely you aren't _avoiding_ me, are you?" Her tone was light, playful, but he could feel the weight behind her words. One thing he admired her for was that if there was something to be said, she'd say it.

"If I that were the case, could you blame me?" straight to the point, he folded his hands behind his back.

"So, why?" she took a harmless step toward him and another sip of her alcohol, which he noticed after a moment had taken its hold in her movements. She seemed overly-relaxed, but only just barely so, nearly too little to catch.

He allowed a soft chuckle to ease the moment. "It hurts. I have no idea how to talk, or...what to say. I'm lost."

Her tone switched to imploring, and she stepped in and brought her hand up to grace the side of his cheek. The contact made his chest constrict. "But you're home, now, Unaril. And we all love you. _So_ much. You don't have to be anything or say anything special, just be."

"I meant I don't know what to do about you," he flexed his hands at his sides, his fingers itching to reach for her. _"You,_ Nyela. Yesterday, you were my wife. Do you understand how that might put me in a tough position? Why it might be...difficult for me to act 'normally'? My normal, right now," he waited a second, letting his eyes fall shut as he released a subtle breath, "would be to pull you in and kiss you, to start right back up where we left off. But that was thirty years ago. So, yes. I have been avoiding you, reasonably and selfishly."

She finally removed her hand from his cheek, letting it fall guiltily. He gritted his claws into his palms to keep himself grounded, lest he do something stupid, something that would be deserving of the guilt that lingered from his nap. Part of him reveled in the pain he dealt to himself then; he nearly felt he deserved it, too, simply for wanting what he wanted.

She gave him an understanding look, and then glanced to the side. "I'm...sorry."

"Whatever for?"

She inhaled faintly, as if that question had triggered some sort of defensive response. "For what happened to you. For what happened between us, for you losing your entire life and then being expected to start new. It's unfair. I know I probably shouldn't have gone back to Sarion; I should have waited for you," she'd begun to speak a little faster, barely taking a breath and not allowing for his input yet. "I should have waited, because I see you now and it's as if not one day has passed, and my heart still belongs to you. But I love him too, Unaril, more than life, and I'm just so sorry that everything has turned out the way that it has and I can't do anything about it."

The woman finally took a breath, and Unaril stared at her, frozen. A few painfully silent seconds dragged by, and he finally cleared his throat to speak.

"Nyela," he finally said her name, but nothing more. He didn't know what else to say.

She took that as a window to go on another slightly-intoxicated rant.

"And I also want to say that as indescribably happy I am to see you, it hurts like a goddamn bitch." Her drink made way for crude language, but her feelings were clear. "You are the love of my life, but by some curse of fate you're not the _only_ one, and knowing that loving one of you hurts the other is fucking torture. I've been waiting for this day to come for a long time, but part of me denied that it ever would. So now you're here, and you're so clearly in pain, and it's all a mess. My mess. I have no way to fix it, because I've been living in a little 'denial' bubble up until now, pretending that if I ignored the inevitable issue, it'd never happen."

"Nyela," he finally allowed a flustered laugh, and he noticed a slight tremor in his own arms, a vibration in his muscles that fought against his restraint. "Please don't beat yourself up on my account. Seeing you do that to yourself is ten thousand times worse than anything else I've handled today."

"I don't know what to do," she let out a heavy breath and set her drink on the ground beside them, where it tipped and spilled the remaining contents onto the wood floor. She didn't notice.

"There's nothing you _can_ do," Unaril replied gently as he bent down and picked up the glass, walking to put it on the table instead and tossing a stained rag onto the spilled liquid. "You've done nothing wrong. This is not your responsibility. I'm _glad_ you two were there for each other. It would've been unfair to expect you to wait for me, especially not this long. It's just hard for me to...transition. I will be fine."

"I hurt you," she said in a quieter tone, her brows slightly pinching together.

"No. _Ephraim_ hurt _us_ ," he coaxed. "And _I_ am sorry for what that must have put you through, when our connection broke. That can't have been easy for you." He didn't mention the fact that he too felt it broken now, felt the raw, gaping chasm left in his loss.

Her eyes pooled, reflecting the lamplight as well as the golden light that shone from them. "I still feel that."

His brows curved upward, and he released a half-breath of sympathy, his tone genuine and quiet. "I'm so sorry."

"Me, too." A tear streaked down her cheek, and to his partial dismay, she brought herself in and hugged him amorously, her embrace like a deceivingly-soft tide threatening to drag him under and drown him.

Now, it was time for Unaril to become nervous. Here they were, emotional and vulnerable together in a dark, cozy room instead of just plain forest. He knew this time it was no dream; this was real, and he needed to make the right choice, not the one he needed, but the one she did. He could tell by the way she was hugging him, this was not just a simple hug of sympathy. It was an embrace of love, a wanton grasping gesture that he couldn't help but reciprocate. He finally released his clutched fists and drew his arms around her, letting her cry against him. This was all too familiar, like he was replaying his own fantasy.

"Sweetheart," he finally coaxed his own voice to be heard. He caressed his hands on the sides of her face, clearing her tears as she released the hug. "I will be alright. I promise you, I will. Now, I want you to go enjoy your time downstairs, with Sarion and your family. Tomorrow we will all wake up, and it will be a new day. A new start. Everything will be fine."

"A new start," she repeated him, her cheeks glistening. He offered her a pained smile and nodded, gritting his teeth at the emotions brimming inside him right now.

"Go be with Sarion," Unaril coaxed despite himself. "It is what we need."

Her intelligent stare held his through her tears, eyes flicking between his as she studied him. He knew she could see his pain, and he also knew she saw right through what he was saying. She knew why he was saying what he was.

"Fine," she nodded softly, her beautiful features gaining a slight hint of that calculating strength he loved. "A new start tomorrow. Meaning I can do this."

His lips parted just in time for hers to meet them, and he felt his breath stop in its tracks when she looped her arms up around him, craning on her toes and deepening the kiss.

"Nyela," he broke away, and shook his head reluctantly. "I can't."

He could see blood roiling to her cheeks, and saw as she bit the inside of her lips, nodding silently. She was ashamed, and his heart tugged at the look in her eyes. He saw her move a hint to the side, a means of escape, but he reached out, placing one hand on the side of her face.

"Wait," he caught her, and she froze.

Unaril drew in close to her, gracing a finger under her chin. The silence in the room was deafening; he could practically hear her heart beating as his eyes latched onto hers. She searched his, studying, curious, restrained.

Wordlessly, he craned his head down and gently pressed his mouth to hers, eyes falling shut. He sensed her fingers looping into his belt and pulling him snug, her hands winding around him and clinging. Her actions were desperate, almost frantic; he could feel the longing in her kiss. She wasn't about to let go, despite how reserved he'd been in everything up until now, keeping his affection just a fraction away from chaste.

But, when her teeth caught his lower lip, Unaril hesitated only a second before every tether holding his restraint snapped.

He vaguely noticed his own arms curling around her and clutching her tightly against himself, his hands then winding into her hair and clinging to her. Her kiss became so packed with fire, the opposite of what he had anticipated, and it blindsided him.

Rather than winding down, their affection intensified to the point of where a breathy sound of pleading escaped her throat, and he scooped her up in his arms, stumbling his big feet backward a few hard steps until his legs hit the bed and buckled. The two fell together into the blankets, and he drowned himself in her affection, letting her smother him entirely as his back sank into the covers.

Nyela's hands worked at the buttons on his shirt, her claws occasionally catching his skin as she pulled at each one, and her warm, small fingertips sent tingles and goosebumps up his chest and along his arms, trickling through every nerve, causing heat to flood to his extremities.

Finally, though, his mind caught up with the rest of him, and he pulled reluctantly from the kiss just as his shirt was tossed to the floor.

"I don't think that what comes next in this equation is allowed," he reasoned with her in a hushed, quickened breath.

"Do you want to stop?" she asked in a sincere, quiet question, pausing, though at the same time, the way she had innocently shifted herself above him sent a strangled hitch into his throat. He released a shudder, falling back into the blankets and putting one arm over his eyes in an attempt to see reason instead of seeing the woman he loved offering herself to him.

"You know the answer to that," he replied huskily and with a chuckle, before biting the inside of his cheek. "But we've gone too far already. We can't do this. You know we can't, Love."

Beside that, he thought to himself, she'd had a decent amount to drink. He finally pulled his arm from his face to look at her. She had her head tilted to the side and was watching him softly. Finally she slid off of him, granting him at least some clarity of mind.

"Forgive me," she leaned down over him and gently kissed him, and he wrapped his hand at the back of her head to prolong this as much as he could. When they parted, she stood from the bed, and he watched her as she smoothed her dress out and straightened the straps. Their eyes met, and he offered her an apologetic, painful smile, which she returned.

"I love you, always and no matter what; you know that, right?" she said as she watched him.

He bit the inside of his cheek and nodded. "Always, Nyela."

With that, she left the room silently.

Unaril fell back into the blankets and drifted into a restless sleep.


	2. Broken

**Uh, is it bad to update another chapter immediately after publishing the first? Nah. It'll help the creative juices flow. :)**

 **Responses:**

 **LadyRaftina: Haha /plopsdown is one of my new favorite things.. Oh yeah, happy times are coming. This chapter, though, is a rollercoaster. :\**

 **Zarabethe: Thank you _so_ much! :D I'm relieved it passed its introduction... And don't die! *throws another chapter at you***

 **Kintaraheart: Haha yay! The good parts are coming soon :D**

* * *

Chapter 2: Broken

* * *

Unaril was one of the first awake in the tribe. Everyone else was busy sleeping off their drink, but he'd avoided that mess almost entirely. He ate generous helpings of fruits and vegetables for breakfast, enjoying the peaceful tranquility of the wooded glen as he sat under the dense canopy. As far as he had learned the previous night, it was mid-November, which was becoming evident in the chill on the breeze.

This solitude, however, was really starting to affect him, and he needed someone's company. Anyone's, really, just someone to interact with. Unaril did not handle isolation well, especially in the vulnerable emotional state he was in.

He kept his eye on the tree, waiting, as he hydrated with a jar of fresh spring water and did his best not to let his deeper thoughts devour him.

He'd probably downed about two full quarts by the time he caught movement and perked up. The first person out the door was Norivana Sunstepper, the early riser, and Unaril smiled widely. He waved at her to catch her attention, and she went to him, sitting down in the table across from him with a smile on her face that pulled at her large, faded scar. She'd brought a hot cup of tea out with her, and the lazy vapors snaked up artfully, filling the cool air with an herbal aroma.

"Why hello there," Norivana smiled at him. He smiled back, immediately feeling better with company, especially company like that of the tribe's matriarch. He'd held a soft spot for Norivana from the moment he met her years ago.

"Hi," he twirled his now-empty jar with one finger on the table. "How are you?"

She inhaled a breath while still smiling, shrugging once. "Recovering," she laughed. "I never am prepared for those parties."

He felt the corners of his eyes crinkle when he laughed. "You can expect nothing less than a wild, legendary soiree with your Silverpaws."

Her smile remained as she watched him for a few quiet moments, reading him. "So how are _you_ doing, you know, with everything?"

"I'm alright," he reassured, eyes flicking down to his own hands on the table as his smile slowly trickled away, but it then returned wanly. "You'd think by now I'd be used to coming back from the dead."

Sympathy played at her expression. "Your case is...very unique."

"No kidding. I suppose life decided I was boring and tried to spice me up. I wonder if this is normal for most people, this number of outlandish disasters in one lifetime. Or would this be lifetime number three?"

Norivana tilted her head, a familiar, thoughtful look resting on her face. "You're a risk-taker, Unaril. You throw yourself into big, important situations full of danger and excitement, and in response, your probability for encountering 'outlandish disasters' greatly increases. Many of us in this tribe do the same, and that's why we seem like we're practically cursed. People who don't take risks, who sit around and let life happen to them, don't have to worry about life-altering fiascoes every other month."

Unaril started to look sheepish, but Norivana shook her head quickly.

"I'm not implying that's bad; I think that the way you're living, and everything that's happened to you, is just who you are, who you've chosen to be. You took a risk to save my son thirty years ago, and it cost you your life, your marriage, and your children."

He leaned his chin in one palm, elbow resting on the table, and masked himself in humor. "Yeah, remind me not to gamble. Ever."

"Has anyone thanked you yet?" she asked him softly. "For what you gave up?"

Unaril fell into thought, forcing another smile that quickly faded once he spoke. "I don't expect them to."

Norivana reached across the table and squeezed his free hand. "Unaril, you dedicated yourself to both Nyela and Julian. You gave _everything_ you had for them. That means so, so much more than I can ever hope to express. Thank you."

He pressed his mouth into a firm line to bite back his emotion, forced a slight smile, and nodded once slightly, eyes falling down at the table. He couldn't keep his expression under control, so he just sent her a pained look of appreciation and then leaned his mouth against his fingers, hiding everything below his nose. "Thanks," he said quietly.

She tilted her head at him. For a moment Unaril saw a flash of Nyela in her features, and he had to blink it away.

"I think you should get to know the twins," she suggested, changing the subject, which he knew was to help him get a grip. "You will love them, I know you will."

"A part of me already does," he responded after a few quiet seconds, finally leaning back in his seat.

"Well," she sighed, "I do believe they are already up. I heard them talking downstairs when I was making my tea. They're in the first room from the stairs, right side. You could bring them some fruit for a snack, or something. They like food. Can't think of who they got that from." She winked at him, and retrieved his empty glass from the table to take with her.

"Alright," he nodded as they both stood, and he followed her suggestion, first grabbing a large cluster of grapes from the overhead trellis and then entering the tree and heading down the stairs, which hadn't been there last he'd been around three decades ago. Unaril almost never felt nervous talking to people, but when it came to his own sons, the feeling surfaced in excess.

Sure enough, he did hear a pair of loud, similar voices yammering away, and he followed them and knocked on the door. Lucian Jr. opened it; Unaril could tell the two apart at this point, because Lucian had more pointed features, and he was physically smaller. Also, fewer dimples. Not to mention, Celwin apparently liked to wear dark, fitted clothing, and Lucian preferred loose, light, airy shorts and tunics.

Lucian lifted his brows high at Unaril, but then was pushed aside by his brother. Celwin leaned against the door, donning a lazy, dimpled smirk as he greeted him.

"Password?" Celwin requested in a sassy manner, hips cocked and head of white hair tilted.

Unaril let a smile fall in place, pretending to think to himself. "Password. Hmm. 'Let me in, I have food.'"

Celwin held his hands out to his sides, swinging the door open all the way with the action, "And he speaks the universal language!" He stepped backward confidently as he spoke, each step causing him to practically sway.

Lucian Jr. pushed back into view and physically grabbed Unaril by the elbow of his shirt, tugging him into the somewhat large room. The lighting down here in the basement seemed an odd mixture between magic and electricity, run through wires and connected to lanterns that held lunar energy, and so the whole room was lit well in a night-ish glow. Unaril handed the grapes off to the boys, who split them up and set them on a small table between two twin-sized beds. Lucian plopped himself down in a rickety wooden table chair, and Celwin flopped down onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling and eating his grapes one by one.

"So, what brings the legendary Unaril Dawnstar down here?" Celwin asked semi-formally, and Unaril made himself comfortable in a chair across from Lucian, who was currently tilted backward dangerously-far in his chair and dropping grape-by-grape into his mouth, evidently seeing how many he could fit at once. Both twins were entirely at ease, and it put Unaril in the same position.

Unaril smirked to himself. "Curiosity." He tossed a grape in his mouth.

"And to what might that curiosity pertain?" Celwin spoke again. Unaril had to bite back a laugh at the 'proper' tone Celwin was using. It was just on the edge of being snarky.

"You two," Unaril shrugged mildly.

"Ah!" Celwin perked, sitting up and leaning forward. "Fantastic! I love talking about myself."

Lucian, who'd remained quiet all the way up until now, finally spoke up in a conversational tone. "You ever wonder what it would be like if the world was upside-down but we weren't?" he called out, and Unaril glanced at him only to see that he still had his head leaned far back over his chair, nearly upside-down.

Before Unaril could say anything in response, the young man piped up again. "Seriously, try this. The ceiling looks like the floor, and gravity isn't working."

Celwin threw a single grape at his brother, which hit him on the chest and then rolled around on the floor. "You can get magic to do that just as easily," he retorted, then looked at Unaril. "As you were saying?"

Again, Unaril's thoughts were interrupted by Lucian Jr..

"I wonder if I could just-" the smaller twin began to raise his knees up, and his chair teetered dangerously. He panicked in response and splayed his arms and legs out all of a sudden, throwing himself into an upright position again and then recovering as if nothing had happened. He leaned one elbow on the table innocently, giving them both a frank smile. "That was exciting."

Unaril found himself grinning, and he had to let out a laugh. He opened his mouth to speak, but Lucian's words for the third time stopped him.

"How old were you when you started growing this?" Lucian practically launched forward onto the table as he gestured to Unaril's stubbly jaw, then rubbed his own smooth chin a few times. "I mean, how come you can and I can't? When I try, it's all patchy. Only works on my chin, over my mouth, and then just random spots on the sides of my cheeks." He fell back into the chair then.

"Might be your Sin'dorei side of the family," Unaril finally was allowed to speak.

"Celwin can grow one!" Lucian said argumentatively, folding his arms and leaning back in his seat. "When he's got his beard he looks twice my age."

"When I shave my beard I look like a baby," Celwin added in.

Lucian glared at him. "When you shave your beard you look like _me_."

The dimpled twin gave a broad grin almost arrogantly while his brother scowled. "Too bad Sarion made me shave it for the ceremony. I had a good four months' worth going."

Unaril let out a sudden burst of laughter. "Sarion made you shave your beard? _Sarion_? He despises beard-shaving."

"Well, he had mom behind him."

"Ah, that explains a little more," Unaril chuckled half to himself.

The conversation went on like that for minutes that stretched to an hour, which may have stretched to more. Lucian continued to be somewhat random in his comments, unable to hold a single topic in his head for more than a few minutes at a time, and Celwin complemented this by having some sort of opinion to say about everything that arose in conversation, which kept the flame kindled and gave no window for boredom. Both twins were relentless in their endless questions toward their long-lost biological father, everything from how and where he grew up to questions about Sarion and their experiences with fel energy and demons. Apparently they knew that Sarion had poor history with those, but they did not know more than bare minimum details. Unaril gave what he could, and the twins ate up every word.

Eventually their little breakfast party dispersed when the boys headed out with a harvesting crew, and Unaril spent the rest of that day - and the following five days afterward - in a combination of resting, reading, and catching up with old and distant friends.

He'd kept his distance from Nyela and Sarion. After just the first night, he had refused to sleep in their room any longer, mostly out of courtesy but also because it was _their_ room. The two of theirs, shared, together. Everything that was Nyela's bore traces of Sarion, and vice versa. He couldn't recover if he was surrounded by them constantly.

But, after this near-week of avoidance, Unaril did believe he was managing better than he'd expected to. He'd slept like a baby once he'd moved out of their room, and his days were somewhat uneventful and peaceful, quiet and without interruption. He'd managed to catch up with Lucian and Norivana, and had acquainted himself with new members of the tribe as well as those of the newer generation, who were all around his age now. And, to top all of that off, Julian Silverpaw's eldest daughter Aquilia and her elf mate had apparently just added a daughter of her own, Naia, not four months ago, making Lucian technically a great-grandfather. If ever Unaril had wished to tease his friend regarding age, this was prime material.

Currently, Unaril relaxed beside Lucian, who had the small, sleeping child splayed out on his broad chest as he read a thick novel by peering over her. The baby's off-blue hair shimmered the same color as Lucian's own skin, like a frosty mirage, and her round cheeks held hints of pink. She was swaddled in thick blankets to counteract the cool temp, but Lucian's body temperature alone probably warmed her up more than anything else.

Unaril, though he'd intended upon reading, found himself instead sitting back in his seat with his eyes trained on the tiny, bundled elf. A swift, fleeting sense of envy ruffled his feathers; this was supposed to be his. He was supposed to have this, a family, a baby. A now-dead sociopathic Rogue had taken it all from him, and he couldn't help but let himself feel bitter for a few long beats before forcing his thoughts to move on.

He watched the baby sleep, her puckered cupid's-bow lips drooling just slightly onto Lucian's chest.

Lucian's voice startled him, despite how quiet and calmly he spoke. "That is a face of woe if I've ever seen one."

Unaril let his currently-tight brows relax, and he glanced up at his friend's eyes. Lucian's gaze was unwavering, his expression studying.

"That so?" Unaril sat up a little straighter in his seat, wondering how strongly his thoughts had played on his face. He'd been taking great care to keep them to himself.

"You were doing the whole-" Lucian pointed back and forth between his own brows and then furrowed them to make his point. The action was comical on the chieftain. "-the whole 'stare-off-into-nothing-and-frown' thing. On your brother, that's his regular face. But on you?" The man shook his head, "Unnatural." The baby on his chest did not stir at his voice.

Unaril let a smirk cover his mouth, but his eyes were tight as he glanced at the ground.

He saw Lucian's head tilt in his peripheral. "You need to stop running from this, Unaril. It's going to turn to anger and poison you, if it hasn't already."

Unaril visibly bristled his shoulders, but he looked at his friend with unchallenging, almost sad eyes. "Easy for you to say. You've never had to leave someone you were in love with."

The white-haired man frowned deeply, even his beard unable to hide that. "You know that is not true."

He peered back, unfazed by Lucian's intimidating stare, and watched the man for a few heavy moments before his face gained recognition, brows arching. "You mean Gladia? Way back in Ashenvale when we were practically just kids?"

Lucian blinked once, but said nothing. Unaril let out a defeated sigh, leaning back in his seat and resting his forehead against one hand. "And you had to see her die. I'm such an ass." It slipped his mind he was saying this in proximity of young ears, but said young ears were deafened by sleep anyways.

He heard Lucian sigh quietly. "I know it's not the same. Gladia and I were...we never labeled it. I called her a sister, and she me a brother, and we never acted on anything we felt. We still felt it, though. And you knew. Sarion knew. I knew, deep down. She and I only got a week back together before she died, and...it wasn't enough time. It was different than you and Nyela. But that doesn't mean that I don't know what it is like, or that I don't have an idea of what you might be feeling."

Unaril bit down on the inside of his lips so hard he tasted iron.

Lucian tucked Naia into the blanket more snugly. "And no, you're not an ass, Unaril. You will find something better once you can deal with it, handle it, and move on." He smiled to himself, gazing softly down at the baby. "I did."

Unaril knew his friend was right. He watched baby Naia in silence a long while, and then let a tiny smile cover his mouth. "She's so small."

"Yeah, man, that's the general idea of babies," Lucian teased. "They aren't like this forever, you know."

"Ha, ha," Unaril mocked as he stood.

Lucian sent Unaril a two-fingered wave as Unaril left the man to his book.

Eventually, he found himself following indented footsteps in the mud that led to the orchard pools. He missed the pools; he had not visited them for leisure in some time. The air was getting colder, as was the water, but that was no barrier for the elves.

He saw a crowd of his old friends socializing near the water, half of them in already and half of them in the process of getting there. One of them, a time-old friend of his called Paetra, caught sight of him and released an excited cheer, jogging over to him. She tossed her medium-length minty-green hair to the side and grinned at him, grabbing him by the arm and yanking him toward the crowd. The group were splattered in mud, with their clothing ripped and broad smiles etched into their faces. The energy brought Unaril to life, and he immediately brightened, returning friendly gestures and starting to call out teasing responses to any playful jabs directed toward him.

"Thought you were too good for us these days, Unie," one man shoved his shoulder playfully, smearing it with mud purposefully. Unaril chortled heartily and reached down, grabbing a handful of the mud for himself and splatting it on the guy's back and shoulder blade in response as he patted him.

"Nah, never, you know I can't stand 'good' for too long," he retorted with an obvious wink. Laughter trickled through the group as they continued to shout and play and filter themselves into the water.

Somehow Unaril found his own shirt shucked without his doing and found himself shoved into the pool as well, and he embraced it. The pool, although quite decently-sized, had filled with nearly two dozen people, making it feel slightly crowded. The water had stirred up the silt on the bottom and became murky, but it was refreshing and sweet even so. They swam and played until the sunlight that peered into the center of the pool had faded.

Eventually the group decided that the water was too confining, and they crawled out and ended up organizing among themselves a very sloppy game of capture-the-flag. Of course, Unaril was elected as first captain, which he honestly hated, but then he saw that Paetra was second and felt a streak of competition hit him. It'd been so long since he'd played a game with his friends, and he and Paetra had always had this rivalry going anytime they played something like this. The crowd was still pushing and shoving and talking loudly, having grown substantially in numbers by this point, but Unaril made his first pick. Then Paetra, then Unaril again, and so forth.

Halfway through choosing he heard a name from Paetra that made him falter a second.

"Nyela," the woman had called out, and Unaril glanced over to see the woman in question cheerfully join Paetra's side. Nyela too was splattered with mud, darkening her pink hair to a purply brown, which had kept him from recognizing her until now. He searched for Sarion in the group but didn't see him. He then realized they were waiting on him to make his pick, and so he did. The rest of his choices were distracted as he kept his eyes off of her.

They set out boundaries across the entire orchard, made clear what the flags looked like to each team, and then he rounded up his own team and took off to the opposite end of the forest. Along with most of his team, he'd shifted to his feline form, and he carried the flag between his teeth; both flags were simply large sticks with different people's shirts wrapped around them and tied in knots.

He hid the flag in the hollow of a tree and assigned two volunteers to guard it, and then everyone fanned out. The excitement and lighthearted fun of the game had caused him to forget the seriousness he'd been feeling earlier, and it wasn't long before he lost himself in it all. He tagged 'enemies' and defended his side, finding himself edging further and further out toward the boundary lines they'd set.

He didn't realize he'd crossed the team line until he was tackled to the ground. One second he was on walking along in dead silence, and the next he found himself flat on the forest floor.

"Ha-!" he heard a taunting, excited bark, and recognized it.

"Paetra, you nearly scared the piss out of me," he retorted as he scrambled to his feet, brushing leaves off of his sides as best he could as he turned and met the opposing team captain, who was standing a lot closer to him than he'd anticipated. He had to stumble a step backward simply to put more than five inches between them.

"You're tagged," she said smugly, holding her chin up and grinning at him. Some of her mint-colored hair had fallen over her eyes. It looked very cute, to be honest, like a puppy. A one-hundred-and-sixty-year-old puppy, that is.

"Were you waiting in a tree?" he laughed, rolling his left shoulder and kneading out what he knew would be a bruise.

"Like a silent predator," she flashed her claws, "waiting to strike helpless, pitiful, pathetic Unaril."

"Oh shut up, I'm not helpless," he reached out and shoved her shoulder, snickering.

She shoved him back even harder, knocking him against a tree, and he let out a vibrant, surprised laugh and tried to push her again. She caught his hand and shoved it back at him, that smirk in the corner of her mouth taunting him like it'd taunted him since they were teenagers.

"Paetra," he scolded, "we're grown-ups now, we have to act it. Don't want to turn this into a fistfight would we?"

"Mm, I think we would," she retorted quickly, craning her neck to the side to pop it.

"You can't drag me down to your level," he sniffed, folding his arms, looking off to the side to ignore her.

"Literally or figuratively? Because you know I could," she bit her lip in that same taunt.

He returned his stare to her, giving her a patronizing smile, and shook his tilted head.

"C'mon, Dawnstar, we're wasting time out here," she reached out to smack his arm.

He blocked her hand, knocking it aside, and her full attention suddenly latched onto him; she attacked again, and he parried. They both began to laugh, and when she went after him a third time, he dodged and then snaked his hands to her ribs, tickling her relentlessly. She erupted in a sudden shriek, curling her knees so quickly that she fell forward into him, and her weight made him fall backward against a large oak.

The elf had herself pressed against him for all of two seconds before she did something Unaril could not have prepared for. She didn't attack, didn't try to wrestle his arms into some sort of pin, didn't keep playing.

She kissed him.

On the mouth.

And she didn't stop.

Unaril was so stunned, he had no mind to react, other than going stock still, arms rigid, brows lifting so sharply they might travel into his hair. Paetra sensed this, and she pulled back, studying his face quickly.

"Kiss me," she breathed, and her lips were on his again, one of her hands cupping his cheek.

Unaril, noting that he was literally pinned right now against the tree behind him, hesitated a moment on what to do.

 _Shit_.

Unaril hadn't even known she felt anything for him like that. He thought of her like a sister, or a cousin. Oh, how awkward was this going to be, now?

He grabbed her shoulders and gently pushed her back, freeing himself.

"Paetra," he started, and her brows tightened.

"You don't want to?" he caught vulnerability in her voice and cringed.

"I don't want to kiss anybody right now," Unaril corrected with a slight smile. "Including you. I'm sorry."

She suddenly looked more than embarrassed, and her arms hugged themselves around her torso, as she took a few awkward steps backward. "Sorry, man."

He smiled softly, sympathetic. "Just...bad timing, okay?"

"Yeah, I get it," she nodded apathetically, shrugging it off. "I saw this as my chance, since you and Nyela obviously aren't together."

"Mmhm," Unaril chewed the inside of his lip.

"Let me know when the timing is right," Paetra smirked at him. "I could always help you get over her."

"Yeah," Unaril scratched the back of his head, trying not to act as awkward as he felt. "Well, we should probably get back to the game, don't you think?" he smirked. "Pretending this never happened and all?"

"Right," she laughed, patting him on the arm. "And you're tagged, by the way."

"Not if this never happened," he smiled impishly, eyes flashing.

She glared at him a few seconds. "Fine. If I see you again, you're definitely tagged."

He sent her a double thumbs-up and jogged off toward his own territory. Rather than heading toward his team, though, he fell deep into thought and wandered off toward the edges.

His mind whirled. What the hell was that? Why would she kiss him? They'd been friends for ages. If anything, she'd been the one to turn him down all those times when they were younger, and he'd moved on by now. He felt bad for her; he'd seen her embarrassment, her apologetic blush, and he'd wanted to do anything he could to make it better.

Well, other than kiss her back.

Unaril groaned to himself dejectedly. He neared the very edge of their boundary; any further, and it was all untamed, unkempt forest, with no paths. He walked calmly, knowing that no one would venture out this far. Of course _he_ had, but he was weird.

A quickened, crunching sound of feet against dry forest leaves stole his attention, though, and he turned around just in time to come face-to-face with the burglar of his own team's flag. She froze immediately upon seeing him as well, and he was surprised he didn't hear her make a sound of surprise, perhaps a squeak, which he knew her so well to do. She still had mud splattered along her legs, waist, and upper body, and even some on her face and darkening her hair. Her tunic was slightly torn, and her shorts' previous color was now unrecognizable due to the dirt stains. A twig stuck out from her hair hilariously, and a good helping of leaves were stuck to her sides and back of her shirt as if she'd rolled on the forest floor. Knowing her, she just might have.

Nyela had frozen in place, knees slightly bent and ready to spring, just five yards from him. Unaril's eyes first flicked to the flag in her hands, then to her face, and he let a challenging smile creep across his lips. Her expression began to mirror his own, her mouth forming a tiny smirk and her eyes flashing daringly.

Unaril let out a contained snicker and spoke without thinking. "Oh, man. You're not gonna kiss me too, are you?" he asked her.

"Huh?"

He pretended he hadn't said anything. "How'd you get this far with that?" he teased, immediately breaking a little of the tension. He hadn't talked to her in a week almost, not since that night.

She grinned at him, still coiled. "I have my tricks."

Unaril straightened up tall, squaring his shoulders, and quirked his head sideways at her playfully. "I'd put that back, if I were you. You can't outrun me." He resisted the grin he knew would come if he allowed it.

She eyed him sideways, inching once to her right, but he took a step to the left to compensate, leaving them both in the same position they were before. She squinted her eyes at him, pursing her lips. "Yeah?"

"Uh-huh," he nodded confidently. "I'm pretty fast. Additionally, you should know not to make any sudden movements in the eyes of a feline. We pounce before we think."

"Shifting is cheating; two legs only after the flag is planted," she tightened her small hands on the flag as he took a tiny step forward.

"Ma-aybe, but that does not negate anything I've said," he put his hands in his pockets for good measure.

He could see on her face that she knew she had no option here; she was trapped, and she felt it. She sniffed and lifted her chin, eyes narrow, but he saw humor through her actions. They heard loud, playful shouting far off in the trees, carried on the cool breeze that rustled leaves on the forest floor, but none came close to them.

"So," Unaril said in a deceivingly conversational manner, sniffing once as if that would dismiss the fact that he still had her trapped. "You, my _enemy,"_ he said the word with a glint of sport, "thought you could just take that precious, invaluable pennant," he motioned toward the comically-dirty, scrappy-looking 'flag' with motion of his arm, "and then skulk past us all on the very edges of the battlefield and win? Those are the actions of a dirty, rotten Rogue. Which is an insult, by the way," he added in teasingly, "though I know how you do carousal about with those scoundrels."

She visibly stifled a giggle. "Well it would've worked," she grumbled at him humorously. "No one else is here."

He hid his own smirk, then gave her a very serious stare, speaking in a dramatic tone, "Nyela Silverpaw, I hereby command you return your stolen possession to its rightful owner."

"And if I do not?"

"I will have to take it from you by force." He squared his broad shoulders, standing up to his fullest height, darkening his expression, though he couldn't for the life of him get rid of the smile that shoved its way onto his face.

She let out a mischievous giggle and stumbled backward a few steps. He shook his head at her, and without further warning launched himself forward.

Her giggle turned into a shriek and she ran full-speed away from him, far out of bounds rather than back toward her own base, her sole goal right now being that of escaping him. Unaril let out a chuckle as he sprinted after her, and after just twenty strides he caught her by the waist, and the two tumbled down. The flag flew ten paces ahead, and Nyela, still giggling, squirmed out of his arm and reached for it. Unaril grabbed her arm and pinned it down as he grabbed for the flag instead, but then his own hand was clamped to the ground by hers. Their laughter mingled together, hysterical and out-of-breath from the running. They bickered back and forth like that for a few seconds, before he finally just reached out and picked her up, then lobbed her to the side into a pile of leaves.

He reclined on his butt and scrambled backward from the woman, laughing heavily as she tumbled out of the pile, now looking like a disheveled forest nymph. She spat a twig onto the ground and had so many leaves in her hair he couldn't tell leaf from twig from muddy curls.

Unaril couldn't breathe at the ridiculous sight of her; his laughter erupted so hard he fell backward onto the ground with his arms wrapped around his stomach and his knees pulled up. He heard her laughter join in, and his stomach had cramped by the time he managed to sit upright and look at her again. He scooted forward and began to pick the leaves and twigs from her tangled curls, still chuckling to himself. After a moment he noticed she'd become quiet, and he glanced down at her face with his smile still in place to see she was watching him with an unreadable but warm smile as well, her eyes peeking from under her long brows.

"Sorry about the leaves," he put in, carefully untangling a twig that did not want to untangle. "Uh, situational hazard."

She burst into more quiet laughter, glancing off at the flag nearby on the ground. "I've made it impossible for my team to win."

He tugged another leaf from her long, wavy bangs and let it fall as his hand lingered there by her cheek. His warm golden gaze refused to leave hers as he smiled slightly. "Guess I'm even better at this game than you anticipated," he said, and then snickered when she scrunched up her nose in defiance. Her stare flicked to the side in a partial eye-roll, but he finally let three fingers brush her jaw, his thumb toying at her chin, and those eyes of hers returned to his promptly, searching.

Despite spending this entire week trying to immunize himself against her, he now found himself crumbling even faster this time around. Their smiles were faint but still present, their eyes locked together in a frozen yet daring standstill, each of them unsure of the direction this was about to go, unsure of what to do next. He let his thumb clear away some mud from the corner of her mouth, eyes flicking to her lips, which held a subtle, sweet smile.

"I'm sorry I've been so aloof," Unaril ultimately spoke up, mostly to put words in between them as a shield.

"It's okay," she murmured, "Sarion said to let you have your space. You're obviously hurting. You haven't exactly been yourself." A second passed, and she smirked, "I mean, until...now."

He allowed his own smile to surface again, speaking brightly. "All it took was some mud and a little exercise."

Her quiet chuckle was music to his ears as she spoke, "Maybe that's the fix to everything."

"I'll attest to that," he smirked. "The universal answer involves one part mud," he lifted a dirty lock of her hair, "and two parts exercise. Which, by the way, we're not done with."

She watched him for half a second, waiting to see his next move, which was answered when he tumbled to the side and grabbed the flag off the ground, leaping to his feet and sending her a cheeky grin.

He laughed aloud as she scrambled to her feet and shouted some unintelligible word at him, and he gave her a half-second head start before he turned on his heel and began to run. Not at full-speed, but fast enough that it got his heart pumping, and fast enough that he was always just out of her reach.

He didn't run the flag straight toward his base, though. He didn't want to end their fun that soon. The two sprinted through the trees until they burst into a tiny clearing, and Unaril faltered to a stop, losing his breath.

Nyela ran into him head-on, smacking against him hard enough to knock the wind out of both of them, and he stumbled forward but otherwise didn't react to the impact other than inhaling a gasping wheeze. A subconscious part of his mind spent its energy on regaining the ability to breathe, as a more surface-level part worked at processing their location.

Nyela, after having coughed violently for a few seconds, inhaled deeply once, and then it seemed she too understood the significance of this area because she froze, the only thing moving being her head as she surveyed.

A small, solitary pool hid behind an overgrowth of trees and ferns, a familiar place for both of them. Unaril barely noticed his hand releasing the flag and letting it fall to the ground, and after a few long seconds of pure silence, he finally looked down at her.

She glanced up at him, and then spoke. "Do you want to get in with me?"

He hesitated. "What?"

Her smirk was far too convincing. "In the water. We're caked in mud, Unaril."

"Someone might see us and misinterpret."

"I'm still the only one who comes here."

He scratched the back of his head. "That...actually makes it worse. I might not be able to resist your wiles this time around," he teased, but his laughter trickled away as he watched her shuck her tunic, and then her shorts, leaving her all but bare. He could barely believe this had just happened so suddenly. She was definitely a sight for sore eyes, but he _knew_ this should not be happening, now. Did she realize what she was doing to him?

"In you go," she beckoned him, "Unless you want to stay muddy."

A smile stole onto his mouth as he let his eyes wander against his better judgment. "I can't say I do." He lost his train of thought at that point, every fiber in him now magnetized to her.

She launched herself off the edge of the pool and into the water, generating a splash that hit every side. The water rippled outward as her head surfaced, already clean of the mud. She wiped her eyes and smiled up at him from the pool.

"Unaril, it'll be weird if you're just standing there the whole time."

He let out a sudden laugh and stripped, then dipped himself into the water. It was cool, but somehow warmer than the air of the forest. A pleasant temperature.

He and Nyela circled one another, treading water. Unaril gave her an intense look, though still warm.

"You do remember last time we were here, right?" he asked her quietly.

Nyela's eyes switched between his a few times, and she nodded. "Of course I do."

"This is where we got married," he joked with a masking laugh.

Her smile dazzled him against the water, and she then sighed. "You are a complicated man, Unaril."

"Am I?"

"Yes."

"I always thought I was an open book."

"Maybe, written in some dead language," Nyela retorted.

"What is complicated to you? Maybe I can help," he smiled at her, still circling.

"Are you okay?"

"I am," he responded freely. "I will be."

A few quiet, slow seconds ticked by, followed by a few more.

"Do you hate me?"

His expression flickered, brows turning upward a single degree, eyes flicking between hers. "Why would you ever think that?"

"You should."

"I could never," he said quietly.

"Even when I marry your brother?"

"Why are you doing this?" he asked her even quieter. "Nyela, why bring all of this up? You're opening wounds that need time to heal."

"Because it would be easier if you hate me," she replied just as softly.

He finally allowed a sad smile to fall in place. "I can't. I can't even try to."

His eyes followed her as she then swam toward him. He backed up until he found himself pressed against the side, then sitting on a rock ledge under the surface, and his breathing dipped to nothing when she brought herself in close, pulling herself near with her arms, an inch from his lips. He began to retract, to shy away, withdrawing for the sake of himself.

"Let me have this," she asked him quietly, a whisper, a question that pulled straight at his heart. Her hands fell just above his knees, tickling his skin. "Please."

Unaril, no longer willing to refuse as he glanced between her eyes, let his lips fall forward into hers.

A quiet moment of lingering sincerity rested there between them as their kiss matured. The leaves all around that concealed them rustled quietly in the wind, the sole sound that reached their ears other than the quiet rippling of the water at the edges of the pool. Songbirds had migrated already due to the oncoming cold, but the pool beneath them was still warm as it lapped against their skin. Unaril still refused to touch her with his hands, because he knew that if he allowed himself to do this, there was no turning back. Even now, though, something told him he'd already started down that road, even if the journey was slow.

He pulled back, resting his forehead onto hers. "We can't keep doing this, Nyela," he murmured quietly, curling his fingers to muted fists at his sides. "You know it'll escalate to something we can't undo."

"I know," she responded, and pressed her lips to his again, curling her hands into his hair. "I know we can't. It's just taking me a while to accept it."

He felt her smile when the kiss returned, and he smiled too, his hands finally drifting to her waist, and she pressed herself against his bare chest. Her skin was so soft, his restraint ate at him, tortured him.

He wrapped his arms around her and drew her in, sliding forward into the water and lifting her up closer, weaving one hand into her long magenta curls.

A snap of twigs nearby stole his attention, and he turned his head only to see that they'd been discovered.

Paetra stood just next to the abandoned 'flag' they'd left on the bank, and her expression was sharp, possibly hurt, and appalled.

"I can't believe you," Paetra blurted, her eyes wide.

Unaril released Nyela, holding a hand up toward Paetra. "Paetra, wait," he called, but she shook her head violently.

"I can't believe you'd do this to m-...to Sarion," she repeated, directing the accusation at them both, stepping backward.

"Wait, it's not what it looks like; we weren't..." Unaril trailed off as Paetra darted off through the trees. "Paetra!" he shouted, and received no response.

He let one hand cover his face. "Shhh-..." the swear went unfinished.

"We need to go talk to her," Nyela said, crawling out of the pool and pulling her clothes on. "This probably looked so much worse than it is."

"It's still bad," Unaril grunted as he hoisted himself out as well and grabbed his trousers. "Shouldn't have happened. I'm sorry. It won't again."

"Unaril," Nyela argued, and he shook his head almost violently.

"No, Nyela," he retorted quickly. He wasn't harsh, but he was firm. "This cannot happen, and it will not go any further. We need to explain this to her, and then I'm going to talk to Sarion."

"And say what?"

Unaril's mouth formed a line as he shrugged his shirt into place, but he didn't say anything.

"And say what, Unaril?" Nyela prodded. "That you kissed me? Why would you tell him that?"

"He deserves to know what happened, he deserves to know that it won't happen again, and he deserves to hear it from us, not someone...else," he waved his hand toward where Paetra had retreated. He began to walk through the trees, and Nyela nearly had to jog to keep up with his stride.

"Fine. Fine, tell him. It's only going to make him angry. The timing is wrong."

Unaril just inhaled sharply, deeply, and increased his stride as he let out a quiet sigh. "Secrets always surface, Nyela. Would you rather him hear it from us, or from someone like Paetra? Won't it hurt him more coming from her?"

This time it was her turn to be silent for a while as they passed through the trees.

"You're right," she murmured. "You're always right, Unaril. I'm sorry. It's just...Sarion and I had talked about the situation between you and me. We were going to work with you to come up with a solution. But he probably won't be happy about this."

Unaril slowed, expression softening, and he looked at her for a few seconds, then offered her a gentle smile. "It's gonna be all right."

"Yeah, probably just blowing it out of proportion," Nyela shrugged with a smile.

They continued walking, quieting for a while.

"Paetra kissed me earlier," Unaril murmured. "That might be why she's so upset. I told her I didn't want to kiss anybody, including her. And then she saw me with you. It probably hurt her feelings."

"Oh," Nyela finally said, and then fell dead silent.

Neither exchanged any further words as they headed back. By the time they reached the main tree, evening had almost transformed to night. Upon arriving, Unaril heard a sharp bark in the form of his own name, in a voice that was his twin's.

He turned toward Sarion's voice just in time to catch a flying fist to his chin, and he took the blow. It knocked his entire body back a few heavy steps as pain blossomed through his mouth and jaw. Sounds of surprise and shock came from nearby elves, and Unaril vaguely heard Nyela's frantic voice behind Sarion, attempting to reason with him, but her words were lost on both of them.

Unaril finally looked up from where he'd stooped, and he caught sight of Sarion's expression. His brother was beyond furious, but his eyes held so much betrayal and wild pain that Unaril didn't have to guess twice to realize Paetra had told him what she thought she'd seen.

Sarion's voice came out in a half-growl. "Tell me it's not true, or I swear I'll hold nothing back next time."

Unaril, chin still throbbing with pain, let out a bewildered breath. "Sarion, bloody hell, let me explain."

"Is it true?" the man bit out as he stepped forward threateningly again. Unaril stood up straight in response, wiping blood from his broken lower lip, and eyed his brother.

"It's...it is, but it's not what you think," he began, but that was all he managed before his brother's fist slammed hard against his face without any warning, causing him to reel backward. His nose exploded in a violent, throbbing pain, so obviously broken.

Nyela let out a panicked cry and put herself in front of Sarion, hands pressed against his chest. "Stop it!" she pleaded. "Sarion, he's your brother!"

Sarion's expression flickered and he looked down at her, his face switching from fury to pain, then back to anger. "You and I are going to talk," he said in the same tone as he'd used on Unaril, and then went around her. Unaril's eyes watered furiously at the pain from his nose, and he let out a barely-contained growl, hands curling in pain and growing anger. He saw Sarion seething, about ready to hit him again.

"Sarion, fuck's sake, stop it," Unaril growled.

His brother's voice was rough and livid. "I thought I could trust you," he snarled, stepping forward, but this time Unaril dodged away.

"Would you just calm down?" Unaril held up a hand defensively, looking at Sarion like he'd gone insane. He really had.

If looks could kill, Unaril would've been burned to a crisp. Sarion's entire expression darkened. "Calm down? I have given you _everything_ I could to help you. I've been doing everything I can to make this somehow easier for you," his tone had not changed, save for a wild strain of hurt festering through his growl. Unaril stumbled backward, away from his brother. Sarion continued, fists clenched and shoulders tense. "And yet you took from me the one thing you could not have."

Unaril, frustrated, let out another groan as pain shot through his head in waves. He finally stood upright again, holding two fingers at the bridge of his bleeding nose as he panted, staring at his brother, withdrawn. His entire face pounded.

"I'm sorry, but it's not what you think," he said quietly, somewhat breathlessly because it hurt to speak. "Just give me a chance to explain, Sarion, in private."

"I doubt there's much to explain," Sarion growled as he took another hard step toward his twin, fists balling up again. Unaril flinched away. He could see the way Sarion's entire body trembled; it was taking everything the man had not to just beat him senseless. Sarion was indescribably furious, and Unaril understood his brother's history with anger was not so great.

"I know what you're thinking," Unaril said carefully, glancing to the side. Nyela was standing off a ways with her mouth covered by her hands and tears streaking down her face, and the rest of their audience looked beyond shocked. Unaril took a deep breath. "I know what you think has happened, but it hasn't," his voice was quiet. He had to be smart about this; Sarion's anger was his deepest flaw, and it controlled him. Unaril had never seen him this angry, not when it was just Sarion, no fel energy.

They had a nearby audience of nearly a quarter of the tribe now, and he was surprised that no one had intervened. Fighting amongst tribe members, as he knew, was always promptly stopped. Given, he had not seen Lucian or Norivana come out of the tree yet.

"No matter how far; you've made a mistake."

Unaril waited a few, heavy seconds. "I am sorry."

"It's not that simple."

"I know. I know it isn't, Sarion." Unaril swallowed painfully, his expression pleading, "But you should know it isn't simple on my side, either."

Sarion seemed to ignite all over again with Unaril's words. He stepped forward again, and Unaril stepped away in response.

"Right, of course it's not," Sarion's tone was scathing, "because you lost thirty years' worth of time."

A heavy pause. Unaril watched as Sarion's eyes flashed strongly.

"But I lived every second of those thirty years. I mourned you. I felt your loss, and it _tortured_ me. I struggled, we all did, and then we moved on. But you suddenly are back, and you're trying to return your life to the exact way that it was when you left. You cannot do that."

Unaril frowned, brows tightening, pain still throbbing through his entire face. "I'm not. I'm doing as much as I can to get past-"

"As much as you can?" Sarion's voice was as sharp as a razor. "Sure, if by that you mean sneaking behind my back and screwing my w-"

 _Crunch_.

Unaril felt his own knuckles shout out in complaint as they whipped out like lightning and smacked hard into Sarion's mouth. Sarion's words were, of course, getting to him, but that wasn't why he struck him. He struck him to shut him up. They had an audience; they shouldn't even be fighting out here in the first place, shouldn't be making such a show. The timing, location, everything, was so wrong, and at this point Unaril was simply protecting Nyela's honor over all else. Though, at this point, anyone who knew anything about his brother, Nyela, and himself, would understand what was happening.

Sarion inhaled sharply, cracked his neck once as he recovered from the blow, and sent his brother a purely hateful glare, only two seconds before launching himself at him with an angry roar. He shifted form halfway through, and Unaril was met with teeth and claws.

The lighter twin shifted to his cat form as well the moment Sarion's claws sank into one shoulder, and he let out a wild snarl in response to the pain, swiping his own claws out in an attempt to knock him off.

In a mess of flying attacks and snapping jaws, the pair bit and cut at each other, rolling around in a flurry as they roared and hissed. Unaril remained on the defensive as his own brother continued to relentlessly attack, though it reached a point of where he began to feel like he was defending his own life, and in a panic, he fought back harder. This only provoked the other cat's rage, and the fight intensified.

Finally Unaril came to a split-second conclusion that if things continued the way they did, they would end up hurting someone else. So, after defending himself from one last swipe of claws, he leapt away and shifted out, stumbling backward and using his voice.

"Sarion, wait!" he barked fearfully, holding his hands up, limping on one leg as the other was severely damaged. He didn't get the chance to say another word before his twin shifted out mid-attack and knocked him onto his back, slammed one knee onto his chest, and struck him so hard his vision flickered out to black, and his hearing became fuzzy.

As suddenly as Sarion had pinned him, the man was lifted up and yanked backward, leaving Unaril lying prone on the ground, dazed and bleeding. He heard Lucian Silverpaw's voice, harsh and shocked, but he did not understand the words.

Unaril let out a cough that turned into a very quiet groan, his ears recovering as they picked up shouting from all directions. His face was on fire, lips broken and bleeding, one eye swelling, and he could feel each and every mark of his brother's anger in the form of deep cuts that stung badly. His limbs ached, his head throbbed, and he tasted so much blood that he had to turn his head to the side and spit out a mouthful. He forced himself to his feet, but then stumbled once dizzily and felt so lightheaded he crumpled nearly to his knees. A pair of arms caught him, though, and hoisted him up, pulling one of his arms up over their owner's shoulders. Unaril glanced to the side and caught a blurry vision of a man with flaming crimson hair. Julian Silverpaw held him upright, and after a second he realized he was talking.

"-we'll get you fixed right up. C'mon, one step forward. That's it, now another."

Unaril caught sight of his brother just in time to see the tribe chieftain shove the furious man into the door of the main tree. Sarion's glare during that split second had still been so dark; blood had streaked down from his nose to his chin, dousing his facial stubble, and the only reason he was not still attacking Unaril was due to the wall of tall snow-haired Druid standing in his way. Unaril had seen Nyela following after him, and she looked distraught. No, that wasn't the right word. Nyela was absolutely livid, and Unaril could only pray that glare of hers was never directed toward him.

Unaril swore under his breath, not only because of what just happened, but because he was now suffering an immense level of pain. He let Julian lead him away from the public eye, behind one of the storage cellars, and sat down with his back to the wall, head falling backward against the wood. He felt healing energies begin to knit his skin back together slowly, piece by piece, but he kept his eyes shut tightly and brows furrowed as he simply released an exhausted breath.

"Thank you, Julian," he groaned. He heard the man let out a sigh.

"I didn't know either of you had that kind of fight in you," Julian said, "and certainly not pitted against each other." His voice was so much like his father's that Unaril had to crack open an eye to make sure it was still him.

Unaril let out a pained, half-chuckle. "You should have seen us when we were teenagers. The black eyes were perpetual. I'm just surprised that the few times I had broken noses didn't leave me disfigured."

"Sarion's such a laid-back guy, and you seem even more so." Julian leaned in, face knit in concentration as he dabbed one magic-infused finger against Unaril's cracked cheekbone. "This was about my sis, yeah?"

Unaril hesitated a moment, then let his eyes fall closed in a prolonged blink as he nodded his head slowly. "Yes." The kid seemed so relaxed talking about it, and Unaril was relieved to have an ear.

"You and she were married once."

"Yes."

"Who was she with first?"

Another bout of hesitation. "Sarion."

"So..." Julian's tone was slightly humorous. "From the very start, she's just been bouncing back and forth between you two? She needs to make up her mind. Clearly her method isn't working so well," he gently tapped next to a cut on Unaril's lip, and Unaril winced.

"No, it isn't like that," Unaril braced his temple with two knuckles as his head began to pound from his injuries.

"Complicated?"

"Very."

"Is there a way to make it not so complicated?"

"Probably."

"But it'll hurt?"

"Immensely."

"Gonna do it?"

Unaril didn't respond. Julian paused his healing and tilted his head. "One of you has to give her up, and it's not going to be the one who spent thirty years of his life married to her. I think you already know this. Even if it is ultimately her choice, you may want to back off now before it's worse."

Unaril ground his teeth together at these words. He heard footsteps approach and saw someone kneel down beside Julian. It was a man Unaril didn't know, a dark-haired blood elf with strong green eyes. Unaril could immediately feel the aura the guy gave off; he was a Warlock.

"Shit," the man said in such a plain, casual tone, which for some reason hit Unaril so funny that he let a tickled smirk pull at the good side of his mouth, ignoring the pain.

The blood elf continued, "Can't say I miss that feeling. Broken nose?"

"Yeah," Julian murmured. "I'm working on it."

The Warlock gave a humorless laugh. "That was a sight to show up to. I return after three months, and the first thing I see is Sarion beating the hell out of this poor guy. What's up, kid?"

Julian sighed. "Levianath, meet Unaril Dawnstar. Unaril, meet Levianath Darkrunner." He glanced at the Warlock. "He's Sarion's twin. Disappeared thirty years ago, showed up a little under two weeks ago. Turns out he time traveled. You know, same-old," the kid joked.

"Huh," Levianath looked thoughtful and beyond curious, but he didn't press for information. He held out one hand to Unaril, still squatting. "Nice to meet you."

Unaril shook his hand lightly, careful to use his fingers even though they'd been healed. "Likewise, although the circumstances could be better."

The Warlock chuckled quietly, and reached a knuckle out to nudge Julian's shoulder. "You ready to head out after this?"

"Yeah, sure," Julian nodded, and then paused, glancing at Unaril. "I don't know if you'd want to stay here in the orchard this evening, would you?"

Unaril lifted a brow. "Is there an alternative?"

Julian finished mending his leg as he spoke. "We're heading into town, if you'd like to join us for drinks and maybe games."

"We'll probably just end up crashing at my apartment," Levianath put in. "Maybe it'll help give you and your brother some space."

"That's...thoughtful of you both," Unaril offered a mild smile. "Don't mind if I do."

"You may change your mind by the end of the night," Julian snickered.

"Oh?"

"Getting totally plastered can suck the charm right out of a person," Levianath clarified with a slight smirk. "We won't be offended if you take your leave before it's over."

"Challenge accepted," Unaril laughed, taking Julian's hand as the man pulled him up to standing. Julian patted Unaril on the back once, a 'Lucian' move, and told them both to wait there while he ran in and let his father know that Unaril was all right.

Unaril ran his fingers along his knuckles, over all the new red scars on his arms and shoulders from Sarion's claws. Julian's healing was clearly not great, and Unaril was suddenly curious if he'd scarred on his face as well.

"So..." Levianath broke the silence, and Unaril startled. He'd completely forgotten the man was standing right there. Levianath cleared his throat, looking hesitant. "You and your brother aren't all that close, then, huh?"

Unaril sighed, glancing sideways. "Actually, we're very close. But I made a huge mistake."

The Warlock's brows lifted in interest, waiting for him to explain.

Unaril scratched his chin thoughtfully, "Nyela and I were married...once. Now we aren't. But I haven't been acting like we aren't."

Levianath's mouth opened, but nothing came out for a few seconds until finally, "I see. Yikes."

"Yeah," Unaril smirked.

Levianath took a deep breath, let it out in a whistle, and laughed. "Too complicated for me, man. I say let's drink it off."

Unaril looked up and saw Julian just as he returned. Julian openly threw one arm over Unaril's shoulders, grinning brightly. "Levi's right. Let's get trashed, boys."

* * *

 **Next chapter is our launcher. *cackle***


	3. Misfortune

**You guys may hate me by the time you're through with this chapter. I hope not, but I'm fully prepared for fury, Sarion-style. ;)**

* * *

 **Reviews:**

 **Ihsan997: (Chapter 1) Yes! It'll be a journey for all of us. :D (Chapter 2) Oh yes, that Gladia mention...I thought it might strike a nerve. ;D**

 **Jay: Thanks! And yes, that's usually how I see most guys resolve issues...they're definitely a lot better than how Sarion did, yeah? :P**

 **LadyRaftina: That rant there was perfect. xD I know I already sort of responded to it before, but you're so right in so many ways... None of them really did the right thing. As for Paetra, I do hope that does help her open her eyes a bit...**

 **Zarabethe: LEVI! :) And ahhh yesss, you have no idea how many times I wrote that whole thing through without them fighting, and not one version worked right. It was all far too unrealistic, which made me so sad. I did not want it. :( AND UM, UH, REECE, UH... UH. READ ON.**

 **Happily Eric After: (Chapter 1) Happy ending? Exotic and taboo? I think I can do that. ;D (Chapter 2) Yes of course! It is definitely a giggle-worthy sketch hahaha. And thank you so much! It makes me so happy to hear; improvement is my fuel. :)**

 **Abyssal Lore 14: Thank you! :) And a lot of good points in that; you've basically summed up my own feelings on the characters' actions in that chapter... And yes, a solution would be good. (hear that, Unaril?)**

 **CherryMountain: Yay! :D**

 **Darkblight: Yes! I'm so glad you like it. :D And I canNOT stop laughing at female worgen Sarion. That's just perfect.**

 **Den of Meade: Welll, the second chapter was posted within twelve hours of the first, so you're definitely not behind or anything. :) I just got a little publish-happy and threw out two at once. And LOL I'll pass the memo onto Unaril... Triple B BLT. Brilliant. Although.. Booze, bombs, and no women? Does that mean booze, bombs, and boys? *cackle***

* * *

Chapter 3: Misfortune

* * *

" _What_ is your _problem_?" Lucian's resonant but restrained voice growled out as he shoved Sarion into a side room, slamming the door behind himself, leaving just the two of them alone.

Sarion stumbled at the excessive push, bracing himself against a wooden, worn table for a second as he tried to calm down. He didn't speak, just dug his fingers hard against the surface, so hard his nails began to permanently dent it.

"Sarion, what the hell was that all about? Why in Elune's name would you attack your brother in such a way? What is going on with you?"

Sarion still didn't talk. He couldn't even open his mouth right now; his jaw was clenched so tightly, and his spine still shuddered in leftover adrenaline and anger.

"Is it your energies?" Lucian asked, walking around the wooden table to face him.

Sarion kept his eyes on the table. "No," he managed to growl.

"Why did you do it?"

"He…"

"He what? What in the world could your own brother have done to get a response like that?"

"He…overstepped…his boundaries…with Nyela."

One could've heard a pin drop in that deafening, sudden hush between them, the air there hostile and cold thanks to Sarion's dark expression.

"Still, this could have been handled very differently," Lucian finally murmured after clearing his throat. He spoke urgently, but he'd lost that initial fire, and now his voice seemed to hold a hint of sympathy. "You need to gain control over that hellish temper of yours, Sarion; at least in public. What you and your brother hash out is on your terms, but not with an audience of half my tribe. You acted horribly in front of your own children."

Sarion's gaze flickered, gaining remorse, and he let his head hang forward, eyes falling shut as finally he felt the anger begin to recede.

A knock came at the door, and Lucian swept across the room, cracking it open. Sarion could hear Julian's voice.

"We're taking Unaril with us. I patched him up. He was pretty beat up, and his eye and mouth are scarred, but he'll be fine."

"Okay," Lucian nodded quietly. "Thank you."

Listening in, Sarion suddenly felt a violent surge of guilt and self-hatred tear into him, and he slumped down against the wall, sitting on the floor beneath an open window. What had he just done? How could he have attacked Unaril like that? He could have killed him. Sarion had seen before how one wrong hit, a misplaced cut or punch, could take a life. It wasn't worth it.

Good gods, he could've killed his brother.

Sarion folded his arms, braced his elbows on his knees, and buried his face in his forearms. "Lucian," he finally said, and his tone was frantic. "Lucian, what have I done? What if he's not-" he choked on his own words.

"Hey," Lucian interrupted firmly. "Nothing that can't be fixed. Don't do that. I've seen you go down this road."

Suddenly the door swung open, and in marched Nyela with a harsh expression. Sarion did not yet look at her.

"Sarion Dawnstar, I don't know _where_ that came from, that anger, but you need to dial it down about ten thousand degrees," she started up, as if she'd rehearsed an angry speech. "You wouldn't even let him talk to you or explain; you just beat him. I don't care if you were angry or not, you _never_ treat your family like that. You never treat _anybody_ like that, Sarion. It's cruel and wrong, and I've never ever seen you like that before. I am appalled."

Sarion could tell that Lucian did not want to be here for this, but the man was watching him like a hawk, as if he would blow a fuse at any moment. Sarion thought he was done being treated like a bomb.

Sarion finally lifted his head wryly. "You have no right to instruct me on how to treat family, Nyela, let alone lecture on wrong or right."

"We didn't sleep together, Sarion!" she threw her arms out to the sides. "Gods! Is that what you needed to hear?"

"I don't know what I need to hear!" Sarion retorted, standing up from the wall. "I wish there was nothing _to_ hear! For crying out loud, Nyela, you're acting like _I_ am the only one in the wrong, and that's the worst part. Do you realize how much you are at fault? Did you…" he hesitated, recalculating where he was going with this. "What happened with you two?"

"We kissed," she said firmly.

"Who kissed whom?"

"Does it matter?"

"It does matter," he braced a hand against his forehead. "After what you and I talked about this week, it does. If it was you, if you instigated the kiss, I have a massive apology to give to my brother."

At this point, Lucian seemed to get that Sarion wasn't going to lose his head, and he dismissed himself quietly, closing the door for the couple.

"What, so just because we were planning on it anyway, then if I kissed him, it makes it all okay?" Nyela's amber eyes glared sharply. "That's some stupid fucking logic, Sarion."

"Because we were _going_ to talk to him about the grey areas between the three of us, and find a solution! Because _you_ understood that once we all talked, you would've had a free pass to work through things with him." Sarion retorted. "But since we had not done so yet, since he didn't know about it and still was willing to go behind my back, since he was willing to betray his own brother, _that_ is what makes it not okay. So if that's not what happened, then you really fucked this up, Nyela, with your impatience."

" _I_ did? Are you _kidding_ me?" Nyela's voice rose. "Fine! _I_ kissed him. I pushed and I pushed, and he gave in. Are you happy?"

Sarion let out a sound of frustration, balling his fists and putting one of them to his mouth to keep himself from saying anything too bad for a few tense seconds as he chose his words. He finally gave her a hopeless look as the words began to spill from his mouth. "You have no idea how far this goes. Unaril will _never_ blame you. He will feel guilty for the rest of his life for this wedge driven between us all. He will blame himself and only himself. It is who he is. And adding to that what I've just done to him, we've effectively obliterated his bond with the top two people he loves most. We ripped his feet out from under him, all thanks to your act of taking advantage of him."

Nyela stared at him in silence, unable to come up with a response. Sarion knew his words were finally reaching her.

He changed directions, now. "Unaril was so vulnerable, Nyela; I just don't get it. You knew our plan. You understood that we were going to speak with him about it. It was just last night we decided that if push came to shove, I'd...share, for what it was worth. But you were impatient, and you put Unaril in a terrible circumstance, and you added guilt to the equation. Guilt and pain, and a lot of broken trust. Why couldn't you have just waited?"

Her mouth opened to speak, but nothing came out. Anger, confusion, sadness, and frustration festered in her expression as she froze.

Sarion waited a couple heavy seconds, staring at her expectantly, and then held his hands out to the sides questioningly. "Why couldn't you wait? Why did you do that to us? Were you that manipulative on purpose? Because looking at it from my point of view, it almost seems as if you _wanted_ all of this to happen."

"I was afraid," she finally blurted, and tears welled in her eyes. "I didn't want any of this."

"Afraid of what? Why would you be afr-"

"I don't know! I was-" she let out an uneasy, quick breath. "I was afraid he would leave."

A second passed as Sarion tried to make sense. He shook his head. "Why?"

"If we offered him what we planned to offer, he would make a decision in your best interest – in _our_ best interest. He would choose to leave. I don't know how I know, but I do. So I panicked. I wanted to make him stay here."

"Unaril would never leave this tribe."

"Really? With the way he's been acting this entire week, he's checked out already."

"He's hurting."

"He is going to leave, Sarion, especially after today." Nyela ultimately broke down into tears. "It is my fault."

Sarion hated seeing her cry. He hated it, especially when it was partially because of him. But he couldn't bring himself to feel pity for her, not right now. He tried; he knew pity and mercy could certainly be applied here, but he couldn't muster a thing. Not after what she'd done, how thoughtless and selfish she'd been with all of this. Unaril was vulnerable. She had to have known it wouldn't end well. If she'd waited even twenty-four hours, this would have been entirely different. Not to mention Sarion himself felt just as awful, and that was clouding his empathy toward her.

She sniffed, wiping a tear off her cheek. "He fought it," she confessed. "I practically had to beg him before he would kiss me again. And then, when you saw us arrive, we were on our way back here to talk to you; he wanted to tell you everything. He felt horrible, and he told me it would never happen again. He couldn't stand to hurt you. He loves you more than anything."

That last sentence made a knot form in Sarion's chest, and he lost the ability to comfortably breathe. The remorse that'd been gnawing at the back of his mind flared up again, causing his eyes to sting.

Unaril was the type of man to bend over backwards to make sure he never caused trouble to others, never offended, never hurt. How could Sarion have been so quick to believe Paetra when she'd come running out of the trees and told him she caught his wife intimate with his brother? Why had he accepted it so easily, that his brother had taken his place?

"Neither of us made the right decision," Sarion finally shattered his defenses, slumping down into a seat at the table. "I guess this…this violence…was thanks to my own insecurities. I'd been anticipating this happening for thirty years."

"Anticipating what?" she sat down across from him, still crying quietly.

"That you'd choose him the moment he returned. I'm second to him in your eyes. Always have been. The moment Unaril makes himself available, it's him. I remember saying this to you so long ago, before we got together. I was terrified to let myself fall for you, because I knew he was going to come back eventually. And I know your love for him is different than your love for me. It's stronger with him."

Sarion could've sworn he saw her heart break in that moment, but he didn't stop yet.

"And I think that deep down, you know that's true, too. Unaril knows it, for sure, if you honestly believe that he would've chosen to leave for my sake rather than work things out with you. He'd only abandon ship, Nyela, if he thought you might ultimately choose him over me." He let out a long sigh. "So if you think he'd have left, well, that's why."

Nyela stared at him a long time, cheeks streaked, and she stood up, walking around the table and sitting on it right in front of him, taking one of his hands into hers. "Are you telling me you've felt this way for thirty years? You feel that I don't love you enough? That you were just a...a placeholder until he returned? How could you possibly believe any of that, Sarion?" her voice had become so hurt and shocked, and it wavered as she tried to hold back tears.

"Because it's already happening. Because you just made the choice for all of us," Sarion let his mouth form a sharp line as his emotion brimmed.

"Sarion," she practically whispered, pleading. "I wasn't trying to replace you. I've always wanted _you_. I've always wanted you both. Equally. It was never supposed to be one without the other."

Sarion stared into her eyes for a long time, their golden gazes both hurting.

He finally stood, forcing her hand to drop as he took a few steps toward the door. He noted that as he did so, every joint in his body ached, and his head spun. He might've received more damage than he initially thought. "I'm going to go patch up. I..." He took a moment, and he exhaled through his nose. "I don't want to talk to you for a little while, alright? I need some time, and I owe my brother an apology. We both do."

She nodded somberly, and then her look became worried. "Are you coming back?" He heard the unsaid ' _to me'_ in her question.

Sarion paused, hand on the door, and turned to her, staring for a few silent, long seconds. He opened his mouth to speak, but he hesitated. He didn't have an answer.

Finally his lips closed, pressing together hard, and he turned and left.

* * *

 _Unaril_

* * *

"Dwarven poker?"

"What, you've never played?"

"Can't say I have. Do we need chips?"

"Nah, just playing cards and a lot of booze," Unaril grinned.

Levianath shrugged then, hoisting himself up out of his seat at the table. "Fortunately, we have both of those in excess," he went to a kitchen cabinet and pulled out a darkened, unlabeled bottle, then retrieved a small wooden box from a drawer beneath it. He tossed it to Julian, who caught it and handed it to Unaril.

Julian smirked as Unaril slid open the lid and retrieved a deck of cards. "Why don't we play something simple, instead, like Ring of Death? I'll start the waterfall."

"That's the most complicated drinking game I know of, so, no. Not to mention you can't start the waterfall before you start the game, you nut," Unaril laughed as he got to work placing four face-down cards in front of each player and then setting out eight additional ones in the center of the table for later. As soon as he did so, both Julian and Levianath made sounds of recognition, and Julian raised his arms in the air extravagantly.

"We've played this!" he exclaimed excitedly. "At the Pig and Whistle, all the time. I just never knew what it was called."

Unaril gave a slight laugh. "Well, then, that makes my job easy," he accepted a full shot of rum from Levianath and set it beside his cards.

"You start," Julian requested, and Unaril acquiesced.

"Alright. Red." He flipped the card over. The suit was indeed red, and he grinned.

"Give two," Levianath leaned back in his seat.

"One each," Unaril waved a hand dismissively, and both Julian and Levianath took a single shot of their alcohol, then set their glasses on the table. Unaril's brows shot up. "Whoa, you don't have to take full shots. Portioning is completely up to you."

"Go big or go home," Julian laughed lightheartedly.

Levianath went next. "Black."

He flipped the card, and it was red.

"A-ha," Julian pointed at his friend, _"take_ two!" He leaned his forearms against the edge of the table, pretending to peek at his cards, and then snickered when Unaril gave him a halfhearted glare.

Levianath drank twice straight out of the bottle and set the rum down. Unaril lifted his brows. They really weren't joking; go big, or go home.

Julian guessed his own correctly, and he gave both drinks to himself.

Unaril wasn't sure that self-assignment was particularly legal in this game, but he didn't fight it.

The following round required them to guess whether the next card's number was higher or lower than the first. Unaril guessed correctly again, and he had to give out four drinks this time, which were split evenly between Julian and Levi. Round three had him guessing whether the next card was between the numbers of the first two, or outside of them, and again, he guessed correctly. By the time they all had to guess the suit of the fourth and final card, Unaril sighed.

"You know, it's not fun to actually _win_ this game," he laughed, rubbing his forehead with his index finger absently as he stared at the final card. "I've had two drinks this whole time from you guys. Two."

Julian, who'd had the most of everyone, burst into laughter at this, scratching his red chin stubble as he grinned goofily. "Dude, you're allowed to drink regardless of whether or not it's required. Go on, drink up." He reached out and patted Unaril on the shoulder encouragingly. "You of all of us need it most, don't you think?"

"Good point," Unaril poured a shot and drank it, then repeated, letting out a hiss through his teeth and returning to his cards. "All right. Spades."

He flipped his card. Spades.

Both Julian and Levianath reacted to this hilariously; Julian put both hands to his head in disbelief, and Levianath began to chuckle mirthfully, tapping his first two fingers on the table back and forth habitually.

"Give eight. Well played," Levianath praised. "I've never seen someone guess four out of four."

Unaril groaned. "I was trying to _not_ guess it right this time. Four each."

"Well that's not much of a curse you've got there, really," Julian put in as he drank four times.

Unaril had no idea how these guys were downing the alcohol this fast. It was going to hit them all at once.

Julian handed the bottle to Levianath, but before Levianath could drink, Julian stole it back. "Don't worry, buddy, I'll do it for you," he promised, and took four more swigs.

Levianath looked nonplussed, but he didn't argue. Unaril had to give his patience due credit.

Julian set the bottle down, smiling happily at Unaril. "I mean, if I won every single one of mine, Levianath would be plastered out of his mind right now." He was visibly intoxicated at this point, and it was pretty funny to watch. He reminded Unaril of himself.

"Where is the correlation in that?" Levianath snickered quietly. "You drink everything you get."

Julian merely shook his head, putting a finger to Levianath's lips to shush him. "Shh, it's okay, just shh. We're playing a game here." He then actually reached out and patted the top of Levianath's head gently. "Your turn, little buddy."

"You're the most annoying friend," Levianath put a finger on his own card. "Clubs." He flipped it over, and grinned at Unaril. "You, drink all eight," he pointed at him.

"Thank you," Unaril grabbed the rum and poured another full shot.

Julian nudged Levianath. "So where's Fia?"

"Visiting the captain. Dahlia is with her."

Unaril's brows lifted as he reached shot number three, and he stopped. "Captain?" He felt the cold but familiar feeling in his stomach from the rum and felt its effects washing over him as he asked that single word.

Julian nodded. "Fiammetta is his wife; Dahlia's his daughter. They like to visit Booty Bay to see his pirate father."

"Say that again, that was nearly trochaic," Levianath muttered to himself, seeming tickled at his own thought. "It even rhymed."

Julian frowned. "I don't remember what I just said."

"Pirate father. Cool," Unaril nodded as he set the bottle down. The thing was nearly empty now.

Julian leaned an elbow against the table, scattering his own cards as well as the ones in the center before he got a chance to guess his last one, and propped his chin in one hand. Seemed the game was done with.

"You know," he said to Unaril, "Fiammetta is half troll, half night elf. Levianath is half human, half blood elf. Their daughter is a megahybrid."

"That's what that's called, huh?" Unaril laughed, glancing at Levianath, who just shook his head hopelessly.

Julian pointed at Unaril's face then, his finger just a couple inches away. "I am so sorry about your scars," he apologized genuinely. "I'm still not great at healing, but I get the job done, and it takes the pain away. Um, if it's any consolation, I bet mine are worse."

"You're not the one who gave them to me. And Julian, how would you have gotten scars?" Unaril asked lightly. "You live in one of the most peaceful times in history. In an orchard. Surrounded by walls and mountains and ocean."

"Hey, I'm almost forty-five now. I've experienced the world, Unaril Dawnstar. And for your information, 'twas a dragon," Julian said bluntly, and without warning, stripped his shirt right off over his head, just as Levianath face-palmed.

Unaril's expression dropped all humor as he caught sight of the warped, faded burn scars covering Julian's shoulder, back, and ribs, traveling down into his belt line as well as up his neck.

"Holy..." Unaril breathed, mouth ajar. "Wh-what?"

"Yeah, feel 'em," the redhead laughed, leaning his shoulder forward.

Unaril hesitated, then reached out and let his fingers run along the marbled scar. It was surprisingly tough. "And you encountered a dragon where?"

Julian leaned heavily against the table now, practically melting into it. "At a slave camp in Tanaris. Levianath and I were abducted and forced into short-lived slavery a year or so after you disappeared; turns out the leader of the operation was a dragon, and he didn't like it when we sabotaged his work."

"What flight?" Unaril asked, still trying to process this wild information.

"Chromatic."

"I've never heard of that."

Julian shrugged. "I don't know, really. My eldest, Maverick, has been looking into those almost obsessively for quite some time now. He's a determined little nut case; he won't tell me why he's studying. You know he tried to become a vindicator?" He looked at Levianath with a single brow raised, waiting for a reaction.

"Maverick? No," Levianath shook his head.

"Yep. He did. He's still trying. I'm surprised I managed to get him to come to the twins' party." Julian stood from his seat then for a reason unannounced, took a single step, and halted, now realizing he was extremely unsteady on his feet. At that point, he abruptly chose to remedy this by plopping himself down on the floor and sprawling out on his back so he could still see them. The man was so tall he stretched almost entirely across Levianath's kitchen floor.

Unaril glanced at Levianath questioningly, but Levianath merely shook his head as if this were a regular occurrence.

Levianath squinted his eyes in confusion, thinking back on what Julian said. "Why would he, though?"

"He tells me nothing. Ever since his eighteenth, he's been all over the place," Julian said from his spot on the floor, where he looked quite comfortable. His red, long hair was fanned out on the ground around his head, and his tall ears had become slightly crooked where they hit the floor.

"You don't think it's because of R-... I mean, the timing..." Levianath trailed off, clenching his jaw shut and refusing to say another word, like he regretted saying anything at all.

"No, that wouldn't make any sense," Julian said, his tone having quieted drastically as he stared at the low ceiling. "You can't exact revenge on illness."

Levianath, now leaning his elbow against the table, watched his friend closely as Unaril watched them both. Julian's expression began to darken, losing his cheer, becoming almost haunted. He stared at nothing now, and his eyes looked misty.

Unaril had never seen someone go from so high to so low that quickly. He blamed the rum.

Levianath leaned down and gripped Julian's shoulder tightly. "I think it's time for bed. Getting pretty late. Want a glass of water?"

Julian nodded quietly, and Levianath stood and went to grab him a cup, stepping over him. Julian's voice sounded out, full of sadness, and kind of quiet.

"I can go weeks and weeks now without thinking about it, and then it kills me all over again."

 _Thinking about what?_ Unaril wondered to himself. Julian and Levianath's conversation was confusing Unaril more every second; he hadn't understood what the two guys were talking about most of the time, anyway, and now they'd reached the point of absolutely no sense made whatsoever - from a third party observer, that is. But whatever it was, it was painful for Julian to recall.

"I know," Levianath hummed as he poured water from a pitcher. "I know, Julian, but I'm right here with you to pull you through when it does."

"Is this just how it's gonna be, then?" Julian asked. "For the rest of my life, I'll just be empty? Going through this cycle of 'mildly functional' to 'melting down on my best friend's kitchen floor'?"

Julian sat up and grabbed for the bottle of rum, but suddenly Levianath was there to swiftly remove it and tuck it away in his cabinet. Julian rolled back over onto the floor, now facing down, his face smushed into one forearm. Unaril heard him start to sniff.

Unaril immediately left his seat and went to the floor beside Julian, sitting down cross-legged and patting a hand on Julian's back a couple times.

"Julian, what are you talking about?" he asked gently. "Can I help at all?"

"She was the love of my life," Julian said. His voice was muffled with his face hidden like that. "And she's gone. How do you _live_ without the love of your _life_? How do you tell your heart to move on? I mean, I never listen to anybody, let alone myself."

Levianath grunted slightly as he sat down beside Unaril in the same manner, placing the glass of water out in front of Julian's arms. "It's been over ten years," Levianath murmured. "You're going to find something good, Julian."

"I already had something perfect. I don't want anything else." Julian lifted his head and took the water, sending Levianath a grateful glance before taking a sip. His eyes were puffy. "You helped me keep it together for my children. Kai was only six; I don't know how I'd have managed without help. All I had left of her was them, and now they're gone, moved out, starting lives of their own. Even my youngest is in the military now. So what am I holding onto?"

Levianath's brows curved sadly. "Well, you've got me," he said, pulling Julian up by looping the poor guy's arms around his shoulder and standing.

"And isn't that pathetic?" Julian managed a joke, laughing and crying at the same time as Levianath managed to pull Julian's shirt back down over his bright red head. Getting his arms through the sleeves, though, seemed too much a challenge.

"You've got your incessantly-unfunny jokes," Levianath's teasing voice faded as he walked his friend out into a hallway, and then it sounded like they'd gone into a room, because suddenly the voices disappeared when a door closed.

Unaril sat there in deep thought for a couple minutes, remaining on the floor with his elbows on his knees. He'd had it in his head that Julian, with his nine offspring and loving family, was living some carefree, perfect life. He'd just assumed that Julian's wife was busy elsewhere, or maybe that he just hadn't caught her when the family was home.

He hadn't expected the man to be a widower - if, at least, that's what he was implying through his drunken meltdown. Unaril had heard from many that losing one's partner is the single-most painful thing to endure, and the sympathy that surged into his heart right then nearly overwhelmed him, as well as a realization. Nobody's life is perfect, he finally thought to himself. Everyone, especially his age or older, had something big, something dark, in their past. Or, in his case, unfolding at present. Julian seemed to have reached a dead end. Julian, whom Unaril knew to be one of the most optimistic, visionary people in their tribe, was a wreck. Reasonably so, as well, considering such a great loss.

However, no one's situation, Unaril decided to himself, was hopeless, if only they knew what to do.

Including his own.

So, what was he going to do to fix it? What could he do? What was the best thing to do for all involved parties, including himself?

Unaril had to leave. Leave Nyela, leave his tribe, leave his life. Not as a means of escape, but as a means of progress. Ten years from now, he didn't want to see himself curled up on a floor mourning what he used to have. He wouldn't avoid such a future if he remained static here in a harmful cycle.

By now Unaril had returned to his seat at the table, having poured himself his own glass of water, and he lifted his head when Levianath reappeared. It had to have been nearly half an hour since the pair had left the room.

Unaril offered the Warlock a partial, supportive smile, and Levianath returned it, though not quite as strongly. Unaril watched as the black-haired elf retrieved some water, then turned around with one hand in his pocket and leaned his hips against his counter top, facing Unaril.

"I don't see this improving for him if he keeps it up," Levianath said calmly and quietly, nursing his drink. His vibrant, shining green eyes sent reflections into the water in the glass, which then refracted in little flickers off of his dark clothing as well.

Unaril shook his head. "Can I ask what happened?"

Levianath stared at the floor a moment in thought, then took a deep breath in what was otherwise pure silence, and he sighed. "Julian married Reece, his wife, when he was eighteen years old, and she was just a year behind. They went through a lot of shit together, but then life decided to give them...what was it, sixteen? Sixteen years of happiness. Sixteen years of raising a family, living and working honest work. They had to have been the most functional couple I ever have and probably ever will know. Even their hard times were somehow good for them in the long run."

Levianath paused, gaining a hint of legitimate pain in his eyes, probably the most intense look Unaril had seen on the man all night. "Then one day Reece went to bed with a headache and never woke up."

Unaril looked down at his own hands, feeling his heart sink. He didn't know what to say.

"I was with Julian the moment it happened, the moment she passed. He was already stressed to no end; they were bonded, you know, like your tribe does, so he could sense her pain. He hated feeling it. He'd tried healing and potions, but nothing worked for her. And then..." he seemed to get a hitch in his throat for a second. "And then it happened, and his face just went ice cold. I'll never get that vision of his dread out of my mind. He didn't say a thing, didn't make any movements, just froze. I thought it was a curse; I thought he'd been harmed, somehow, by some form of magic. But then he rose to his feet, and without warning, turned and bolted into his house. When I got there, he was hysterical. The only other person in the house at the time was Maverick, but Mav left as soon as I'd reached the front door. As in, he left-left. He disappeared for about three or four years, and showed up a different man."

Unaril braced his mouth against his knuckles, leaning against the table, processing.

Levianath remained quiet for a little while. "Julian just...he can't accept it all. He functions, in society, around his family, but it's a mask. I feel like the second he's left alone, he's in danger of falling prey to his own pain. I keep him around here most of the time. I can watch him. It's no burden; he's as close as the rest of what little family I have."

"Spirits, how awful for all of you," Unaril finally murmured in almost a whisper. "How much does the rest of his family know?"

"Not much at all. I've spoken to his sister about it, and she keeps an eye on him when he stays in the orchard, keeps him busy, involves him. His parents as well. But none of his children have been dragged in. I don't think it is their job, you know? They have their own lives."

"You're no doubt making a massive difference for him," Unaril concluded. "I'm sure you're helping him even more than you realize. And I don't know about his kids, but if my own father were in a state like that, I would want to know, so I could do something to help. Maybe keeping them in the dark isn't fair." He hesitated, then added in, "No offense intended, of course. Just my two cents; you're getting no judgment on my part, only gratitude. And I am sure Julian is grateful as well."

"I hope so," Levianath chewed his lower lip. "And maybe you're right about the kids; Mav is nearly thirty now. At least the older few deserve to know, to have a chance to help. They're very close with their father; all of them but Kai."

"And Kai is his youngest?"

"His youngest, who unfortunately had to live with a mourning family and didn't fully understand why his father had withdrawn so badly. Kai ran off and joined the Stormwind military as soon as he hit sixteen, about four months ago, and he's not in contact. Julian did not handle that well, either." Levianath almost sounded resentful.

Unaril opened his mouth to talk, but a knock came at the front door and interrupted their conversation. Levianath seemed a bit surprised, due to the late hour, and he set his drink down behind himself and left the room. Unaril's sensitive ears picked up sounds of the door opening, as well as muffled, quiet, low voices, and then Levianath reappeared.

"Someone here to see you," Levianath said cryptically. Unaril could've sworn he almost looked uncomfortable.

Unaril stood. "Who?"

"Your brother. I can tell him to leave if you need me to."

Unaril paused, entirely sure that his apprehension suddenly painted itself onto his face, before his own feet carried him without his consent to the front door. The door was left open, and Unaril could see Sarion standing outside, hands stuffed in his pockets, staring down the hall beside him. Unaril steeled himself and approached, and when he exited the apartment, he went ahead and shut the door behind him. Sarion's gaze jumped to his, and the two of them stood there in tense silence for a few slow, uncomfortable seconds before Sarion cleared his throat.

"Can we go somewhere to talk? Is that alright?" he asked. "I can go. I understand if you want me to leave." His voice was more vulnerable than Unaril had expected it to be, which crumbled the shields he'd been prepared to wield.

It was dark here, so dark Unaril could barely see his brother's expression, but after a few seconds of silence, he finally nodded. "Sure. Let me just dismiss myself."

He said goodbye to Levianath, thanking him for the evening, and Levianath offered him a place to stay for the night if need be—AKA, if things between him and Sarion went south. Unaril thanked him again, and he then returned to his brother.

The two left the building and walked out into the streets of the Mage District, into an open, better-lit space surrounded by apple trees and lined with grass rather than pavement. It felt more like home, and more comfortable, which Unaril supposed Sarion had done on purpose.

"Unaril," Sarion said finally, turning to face him, but he froze when he caught sight of Unaril's face in the light of a nearby street lantern. Sarion inhaled a broken breath through his nose, his entire expression flashing in mortification. "Oh, fuck. Unaril, I am so sorry."

"That bad?" Unaril began to laugh, already trying to pacify without thinking. "I haven't seen a mirror yet. People might take me a little more seriously now, at least. That, or just be scared of me."

Sarion didn't so much as react to the joke, other than shaking his head quickly, his expression retaining that chagrined, apologetic strain. "You didn't deserve this. You didn't deserve any of this. I'm so sorry, Unaril. I don't even know where to begin."

"Um," Unaril tilted his head sideways, squinting his eyes. "Last I checked, I sort of kissed your wife. Multiple times. I maybe sort of did…deserve it…a little." For effect he held up his thumb and index, spacing them about a centimeter apart on that last word.

"She admitted it was her," Sarion countered. "She admitted she kissed you, not the other way around. And though it might not seem like it to you, given what little you know of what she and I have talked about, that makes a very big difference."

"It's not like I didn't reciprocate, Sarion. None of us exactly did the right thing, here."

"She knew you were susceptible, that you were going through something painful. She took advantage of you, whether it was purposeful or not, Unaril. She is far more at fault, here. If anything, you're free of blame."

Unaril couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of this. "You're kidding, yeah? When's that next punch coming?"

Sarion seemed to prickle, but it wasn't out of anger. "The only time I've felt more regret was when I discovered I killed you."

"That's a sentence you don't hear every day," Unaril smirked.

"Are you really going to just shrug this off? Act like it's nothing?"

"Am I allowed to?" Unaril asked, finally dropping his joking act. "Or do we have to dwell on it and let it fester? Are we going to poke and peel at this situation until the resentment we generate finally manifests into more and more pain? Or can we get on with the apologies, and move forward? Because honestly I've tried the whole 'moping and isolation' thing before, and it sucked ass. So if it's alright with you, I'd like to just accept that it happened, accept we all three did some pretty stupid shit, and move on. I'll be honest, Sarion; I've decided to leave soon, and I don't want to leave behind unfinished business, including with that hard feelings and remorse."

"You're leaving?" Sarion's voice was reluctant, like he'd already known somehow.

Unaril waited a second, pressing his lips together in thought. "Yep, I think that would be good."

"And you're not doing it for us, right? You're doing it for you?" his brother asked him carefully. "Because I know you would make that decision in _our_ best interest, but maybe not your own."

"I'll be entirely fine," Unaril put his hands in his pockets lightheartedly. He didn't realize he'd entirely dodged the question. "To be honest, it's an exciting prospect."

"Where are you going to go?"

"Different branch of the tribe, maybe? Or…travel. Yeah, I'd like to travel! I love meeting new people, encountering new places, trying new things. You know I do." Unaril felt like he'd finally just made up his mind, and it was a freeing sensation. He then grinned brightly, almost laughing. "I could go hang out with our hermit uncle Haldrian in his hut. He'll help me drown my sorrows...or puff them away, as it were." He snickered more.

Sarion blinked, and then looked like he had half a mind to actually cry or something, but instead he just sighed. "Will you ever be back?"

"I'm sure I will. And I'm not leaving tonight, so don't get all sappy on me yet, you thorn."

"Thorn?" Sarion's serious exterior seemed to fade just slightly.

"Well, it was that or 'boob,' so," Unaril shrugged. "I think we'll both agree 'thorn' better fits you."

"Yeah, I'll stick with it. Whole lot better than 'prick', in any case."

Unaril laughed, and Sarion finally let a small smile tug at a corner of his mouth, though he still looked beyond troubled. Unaril gave a finalizing sigh and peered up into the sky above them, staring at the cloudless starry expanse. "I haven't flown in what feels like ages."

Sarion watched him for a moment. "Unaril, would you come back and sleep in the orchard tonight? It would make me feel so much better."

Unaril gave him a hesitant smile, but didn't say anything yet.

Sarion sighed. "I hate knowing I'm the one who's driving you away. I understand if you don't want to, but I really hope you will come back."

"Sure," Unaril nodded, patting his brother on the arm. "Race you home."

He took a running leap into the air and transformed halfway through into a large raven, darting into the fresh, cool air and letting out an excited squawk-like laugh when he saw his brother follow after him. The two raced on through the night, over the city, onward back to their orchard.

* * *

The following morning, Unaril hadn't seen Nyela anywhere. The orchard was large enough that it wasn't actually a surprise, seeing as he earlier had managed to avoid her for nearly a week straight, but he still thought it odd, because he spent the morning with half of her family. He ate breakfast with Sarion and Norivana and Lucian, noting that the latter two had been attempting to discreetly watch him and his brother, trying to determine their current standing regarding each other. Sarion and Unaril were quieter than normal, more reserved and less chatty, but they were friendly toward one another and didn't hold any grudges. At least, Unaril didn't, and if Sarion did, he did a great job at hiding it.

Unaril had also noted that the twins, Celwin and Lucian Jr., had been quiet that morning, too. When they'd come out of the central tree in the morning and caught sight of Sarion, they'd sent him and Unaril furtive, quick glances and then completely switched directions, heading right back into the shelter of the tree. Sarion hadn't caught that, but Unaril had, and he worried that Sarion's actions from yesterday had spooked the 'kids'. (Kids his age, but still...kids.)

The conversation at breakfast was basic, generic, silence-filling fluff, but Unaril didn't mind. It was most likely an attempt by the others to make light of the day, to compensate for what had gone on the day before, and he understood that the intentions were benevolent. They were acting this way for him.

People came and went in a steady stream, in and out of the orchard, in and out of the harvesting paths, showing up for food or rest, so when a certain elven face popped up among the other tribe members, Unaril at first didn't think much of it, until he remembered that this face did not belong to his tribe.

He saw a familiar chocolate-haired rogue approaching along the largest, main exit pathway, decked in sleek black leather armor and twirling what looked like an envelope artfully through his fingers without thought. He passed a group of three tribe members and sent them all a confident, possibly flirty wink, his tapered mustache curling with his sideways smile. Unaril had half a mind to roll his eyes. Thirty years, and Raphael Amaranth hadn't changed a bit.

He scanned the area, and when he saw Norivana and Lucian at Unaril's table, he beelined for them. The wind picked up in the trees then, rustling the foliage and swirling loose, freshly-fallen leaves into the air that danced in swirls and flips all around him.

"Message for Miss Sunstepper," the blood elf fiddled with the envelope as he drew closer, and then with a trick of his hand, he appeared to have somehow flicked it so that it flipped through the breeze and landed in front of Norivana on the table. Norivana startled back just a hint, her silver eyes landing on the elegant script in the form of her own name.

"Oh, that worked!" he exclaimed, surprised with himself. "I didn't mean to let that go, it slipped from my fingers; I half expected it to go under your legs. Pretend that was all intentional and that I'm an expert with my hands-" he trailed off as his eyes fell on Unaril, and he turned himself to face him directly, his interest level appearing to have shot straight through the meter.

As Norivana calmly peeled her letter, the male blood elf squinted his eyes and walked around the table to Unaril, placing himself between him and Sarion, and he then reached out and proceeded to pinch Unaril on the shoulder quite hard.

"Ow," said Unaril bluntly.

"Hm, you felt that?" the chocolate-haired man lifted a delicate brow in legitimate surprise, turning around and sending Sarion a surprised grin. "He's here?"

Sarion visibly rolled his eyes and stood up, heading off to grab seconds.

"No, I felt like saying the first syllable that came into my head," Unaril joked.

Raphael pinched him again, this time on his tricep, and Unaril let out an annoyed laugh.

"Oi!" he scooted away from him. "Why?"

"Hold on, now, you must understand; I wasn't sure you were real," Raphael reasoned defensively, as if this were perfectly acceptable. "The first pinch," he held up one finger, "was to see if you were, of course, solid, and the second," he held up two, "was purely a means of reassurance."

A quick second passed, and the rogue abruptly let out a defeated sigh, holding up his hands. "Oh, alright! I lied. Goodness, those judgy eyes of yours. To be honest, it was all an excuse to pinch you. You have sensational arms, and I couldn't help myself."

Unaril's slightly serious expression broke as he snorted into laughter, head falling forward, and Raphael leaned one hip against the table and folded his arms. He spoke with the same lilted, mischievous tone as ever. "So, you're back. How was the journey?"

"Journey?"

"Through time. I'll have you know I was the one to lead your investigation." The rogue's curled mustache twitched with his tiny smile. "T'was I who helped discover you'd time traveled, rather than...well," he leaned in close as if telling a secret and whispered quietly, "dying." He then made a face, glancing at the others at the table for effect.

"Instantaneous," Unaril folded his arms, turning in his chair and leaning his back against the table. "Like a snap of the fingers."

Raphael looked fascinated. "So, you're staring death in the face—death being a weasel word for my late uncle—and a blink later, the world around you ages three decades. Brilliant... I'm dying to try."

"Pun intended?" Unaril smirked. "You know he had to stab me first."

"Ha! You're quick," Raphael praised, twirling his own mustache between two fingers. "I nearly forgot how much I like you, Unaril Dawnstar." His voice became wearier as he sighed, "How I wish it were as easy to recruit your type as it is to draw in the narcissistic flies that buzz around my guild. It is harder work than you might expect, pest control."

"Your guild? You took ownership?"

Raphael tilted his head. "I forgot how much you've missed. Yes, I now own the Shrouded Serpent."

"And yet you're working as a messenger?" Unaril bobbed his head toward Norivana, who he just now noticed was staring at the letter with a pensive expression as she read, her brows tight and lower lip hidden behind her upper one as she bit it. Lucian was watching her closely for a reaction to the letter.

"Ah, it was an excuse to come here," Raphael smiled, holding his arms out toward the orchard. "I love being an uninvited house guest."

"That does not surprise me," Unaril laughed.

Raphael opened his mouth to respond, but then Lucian cleared his throat and spoke to his wife, "What's wrong?"

Both Unaril and Raphael turned to look at her. She didn't look all that upset, just somewhat serious.

"My parents died," she said plainly.

Unaril's brows shot up in concern. Lucian leaned a little closer.

"What? How? They weren't that old, were they?"

"Fire. I mean their entire house caught fire with them in it," Norivana replied. Unaril found it odd that she seemed surprised, shocked even, but not all that emotional otherwise.

Raphael sat down beside Unaril at the table, folding his hands together as he regarded Norivana. "I'd heard of that disaster, but I didn't yet know it was your parents; I saw the recipient and snagged this letter from the Silvermoon postal nexus before it got a chance to be sent off."

Unaril lifted a brow at this silently; how and why did Raphael have access to private mail, and wasn't that kind of illegal?

Norivana spoke after a few seconds of thought. "The funeral is in two days. They have no bodies for caskets, but they did collect urns."

"In Silvermoon?" Lucian asked.

She nodded. Unaril watched as Lucian took one of Norivana's hands into his own quietly.

"Do you want to go?"

Norivana waited a moment, and then she sighed. "Yes, I do."

"All right," Lucian gave a finalizing nod of his own, squeezing her hand. "I'll pack our bags."

He leaned in and kissed her temple, and walked off toward the tree.


	4. Initiation

**Oh my _goodness_. I apologize for the wait. :) Hopefully I'll be able to pick back up with updates again. Thanks all for your patience!**

* * *

 **Responses:**

 **Den of Meade: Oh yes. Redemption is not lost here!**

 **Nyteknight: It's okay! I have my trusty sewing needles to mend these pieces back together!**

 **Ihsan997: Awful for all of them = pretty much the best way to put it, huh? :P But, yes. Zombies, dragons, and turning into a bird! So much more out there! You go, Unaril!**

 **LadyRaftina: You and Maverick both have that keen eye... That'll be important... :D**

 **Happily Eric After: Bahaha, that review earned a proper chuckle! As for uncle Haldrian Dawnstar, I have a short story in the works starring him and his two rowdy nephews. I hope to publish that one sooner rather than later. :)**

 **WhiteKatsu: You did it! Welcome to the family! *gigantic hug* And I'm pretty sure someone asks Raphael that question /every/ day.**

 **CherryMountain: Haha yes! Stay strong, Unaril. xD**

 **Abyssal Lore 14: Those suspicions are spot on! And thank you for the 'rambling'! I always enjoy it. :D**

 **Kintaraheart: OKAY, I WILL! I PROMISE!**

 **Darkblight: MWAHAHAHAHAHHAA**

 **Zarabethe: *sniff* What a beautiful memorial... And oh my gosh, when I was writing that part with those two, I kept snickering to myself even though it was supposed to not be...snicker-y.**

 **ToxicStar9: Ahaha I can't promise a thing! *sticks fingers in ears* La la laaa!**

 **psalty: Don't cry! *hands cookies***

 **Guy: Sorry for the wait!**

 **RJB613: Ha! Don't worry, I'll be bringing her back as a main character as soon as I can. ;)**

 **Jay: Yes! Eventually there'll be a WoD piece. I'm basically just working around it for now, until I have the plot finalized for that one. Since it follows closely to in-game canon, it takes more planning. I'm excited for it, though. It'll bring back everyone from Breaking Faith.**

* * *

 **Thanks again for everyone's patience, and I've got my next chapter already in the works, so hopefully this time it won't be an entire month's wait!**

* * *

"Now, when did your little homecoming take place?" Raphael asked, sitting across from Unaril at the table. Sarion hadn't yet returned with his second helping of food, and Norivana had gone after Lucian, probably to help pack, which left only the two of them.

Unaril watched as Raphael produced one of his daggers and set it on the table in front of himself, polishing the steel with a gloved thumb and absentmindedly fiddling with it while he awaited Unaril's response.

"Just over a week ago," Unaril murmured. "Feels like so much longer."

"And this?" Raphael motioned to Unaril's left cheekbone. "Wasn't there last I recall. Looks fresh. Ephraim?"

"The scar?" Unaril clarified. He still hadn't looked in a mirror yet. Gods only knew what it looked like, the way people kept pointing it out.

The rogue nodded in silence. Only now did Unaril realize that Raphael himself had facial scars to boot, top to bottom, faded nicks and scratches and cuts here and there. They looked old, very old, almost so faded they were invisible, although one very thin, long scar stood out from the rest, stretching from above his brow to beneath his right eye to his chin, over his lip. It didn't seem to have interrupted the growth of his mustache or brows, or possibly just went with the grain.

"Not Ephraim. And yes, it's fresh. All thanks to a misunderstanding," Unaril sighed.

"Knuckles, right?"

"Hm?"

"Knuckles. The scar? Caused by knuckles? It's got that pattern."

"Yes, I believe so," Unaril couldn't help but laugh quietly at the way the man not only calculated every tiny detail around him, but was also correct in his judgments of said details.

"Ah. Definitely knuckles. How is your situation with Nyela?"

Unaril blinked at the frank and unexpected question, hesitating. Raphael peered up at him from under his dark brows, and his expression twinkled.

"Shocking as it may be," he waggled the dagger heedlessly as he sat forward in his seat, "I happen to care about her, and I remember how you felt for each other." He went right back to polishing. "You were married. Bonded. Even I understand that counts for something."

As Unaril took this in, Raphael lifted his head when the wind picked up again around them, seeming to admire the way the stray grapevine shoots that trickled down from the overhead trellis looked like they were dancing. The man truly appreciated this place.

"It's...crumbling," Unaril finally said.

"Because she is married to Sarion?" Raphael tested the point of his dagger by poking his finger with it and promptly wincing at the aftermath.

"Essentially, yes. And because I vanished for thirty years. That can put a rift in anything."

"Hm. And you're too respectful toward him to fight for her?"

"Knuckles," Unaril pointed at his cheekbone in correction, unable to hide the smirk that followed the rogue's reaction.

"Ah-ha!" Raphael's entire face etched itself in surprise. "He did that? He does pack a punch, as I well recall."

A couple seconds passed when Unaril nodded and glanced off to the side in thought.

Raphael's tone lightened. "Ah, monogamy. The world's far better off without you, you difficult, complicated shrew."

"Difficult and complicated aren't always bad," Unaril countered calmly, leaning his elbows on the wood.

"Perhaps for some," Raphael teased. "Me, though? Ten foot pole, my friend. Ten foot pole. The more the merrier, and the moment envy rears its ugly face, I'm out."

"Sounds...lonely," Unaril fiddled with a splinter in the table. "Have you even considered a real relationship?"

"All of my relationships are real," Raphael smiled slightly as he re-sheathed his dagger. "They're simply unconventional, that's all. Now, before we derail further, have you taken steps toward remedying that time gap you lost?" He folded his long fingers together on the table.

Unaril unconsciously mirrored him. "How would I do that? I left the shard in Silvermoon."

"I believe that the time shard, that artifact, isn't a one-way road. It reacted to your own thoughts and took you right where you wanted to go, and I'll take a guess that its magic wasn't depleted in the process." Raphael leaned forward, thoughtful, scheming. "If we contact the right people and offer the right price, you might be able to go back home. If nothing else we could sort out options for you."

"Contact the right people, as in arcanists? Magisters?"

"I know an arcanist who meddles in things she's not supposed to," the rogue commander grinned. "She'd love to meddle in time, I'm sure. She's quite brilliant. I'll gladly take you there, and we can figure this out."

Surprise was the first thing Unaril felt, surprise that Raphael had just offered to help him, but then curiosity won over. "Where? Why?" Unaril's gratefulness etched itself into his face, unfettered.

"Silvermoon. We could hitchhike that portal of your chieftain's when they travel into the city for the funeral. Don't worry about travel papers; if you're with me, you've a virtually free pass anywhere. We will likely stay in the city longer than your friends, but I can ensure a port back home if ultimately necessary. Though, one should hope it won't be, if things turn in your favor." A pause. "And as for why," Raphael chuckled. "Why not?"

"Is there a catch?" Unaril returned the humor, though his was hesitant. "No offense intended, but I would not expect this from Raphael Amaranth, of all people. Last I knew, this wasn't your style."

"Well then, you tell me," Raphael smirked, leaning back in his seat. "How does it feel when you help people?"

Unaril paused, then smiled.

Raphael mirrored his smile knowingly. "Precisely. It's a damn good feeling, and surely better than its counterpart. Past thirty years must've softened me up since you last knew me." A pause. "Plus, I am bored."

 _There it is,_ the druid internally laughed to himself.

In the corner of his eye, he saw Sarion approaching from the food sheds in his tall stride, and he finally shrugged his shoulders. "Matter of fact, I was planning on leaving here anyway. Might be good to put my energy to better use, yeah?"

"Good man!" Raphael praised satisfactorily, an excited glint to his movements now as he stood. "Now go along and pack your things. We've a funeral to crash."

* * *

Norivana ended up taking Lucian, Julian, Finnian, Nyela, and Sarion to Silvermoon with her on the day of the funeral. She'd intended on only taking Lucian, but upon hearing the news, the three children (and Sarion, by association) had asked to accompany as well. Unaril knew she'd have no issue with it, which she hadn't.

However, she _did_ have issue with Raphael's involvement the moment it was mentioned.

"You are not going to that funeral _with_ us," Norivana had ordered him, strictly, and with a fierce severity that somehow, in a manner that only Raphael could have garnered, embodied humor. "You may use Lucian's portal only if he permits it, and the moment you are in the city, we do not know you."

He had stuck by her orders diligently, save for maybe a few quips about how he was actually a well-respected member of Silvermoon society, if not revered in some places. No one believed him, not even Nyela, who, as far as Unaril had guessed, was apparently one to defend him in most situations.

Speaking of...

Nyela, whom Unaril hadn't spoken with since the incident with Sarion, had been exceptionally quiet around Unaril, and she wouldn't even make eye contact. Unaril really wanted to speak with her, wanted to let her know he wouldn't be coming back to the orchard for a while, but he hadn't had a chance yet. He needed to, soon. Maybe before she and her family left, or tonight at the inn they'd all be staying in. If not then, he had no idea when.

Once they were all ready to leave, Lucian generated a portal to the northwestern corner of the giant city, and almost immediately upon stepping through, Raphael grabbed Unaril's arm and pulled him off to the side, distancing both of them from the rest of the party. Unaril didn't even get a chance to marvel at the world around him when the rogue started talking, and in his peripheral he saw Norivana and her kin already walking toward their intended inn.

"Would you like a tour of the city?" Raphael asked him lightly. "I'm not planning on showing up at the funeral until later. The woman we seek is directly related to the deceased and likely won't be free until evening, but at least we know where she'll be. Unless you would like to attend yourself, I suggest we find ourselves a different way to spend our time."

"Sure." Unaril tilted his head, finally lifting his gaze up to stare at the beautiful architecture. "Y'know, I was just here, actually. Though at the time, I wasn't quite…myself." A humorless smirk pushed its way onto his lips.

"Hm. So when you returned, were you in the same physical location as when you left?" Raphael wondered as he directed them in the opposite direction from everyone else, the two walking now toward a giant archway leading into the rest of the city. Unaril had no idea where the man was taking him, but he went with it.

"Yes. In the run-down basement of your uncle's mansion. That place is frighteningly decrepit nowadays. There was a skeleton in the basement, you know."

Raphael laughed loudly. He sounded almost smug. "Yes, yes it is."

"Why haven't you taken ownership of it? Fixed it up? Or why not the city, at least? It's a hefty chunk of the area. Not to mention its worth."

Raphael's crisp, sharp footsteps drowned Unaril's softer ones, his hands folded behind his back. It was odd that this Rogue could be so conspicuous when he felt like it, and at other times impossible to detect.

"I do own it."

"Doesn't the city require maintenance?"

"Oh, I receive demanding letters on occasion, but there's really not much they can do about it. To repair and restore the entire thing, and then include maintenance, would likely be far too expensive for them to manage. They could always fine me, but they haven't."

"But why have you let it fall to ruin?"

"Ephraim always had to put on a front of perfection. Perfect home, appearance, guild, wealth, you name it. His mansion was the epitome of his position. So now, every time I pass it in its broken, ruined glory, I feel a sliver of satisfaction I can't really get anywhere else. Petty, perhaps, but so rewarding."

"You truly hated him, didn't you?"

"In my own way. I'd say my feelings toward him were more akin to apathy until I became attached to people he hurt. Then, yes, I hated him. Before, killing him seemed counterproductive to my own agenda. He was in charge, held all the responsibilities, and I was free to do just about whatever I pleased with no consequences. Ephraim did seem to like me—or at least tolerate me—for reasons unknown."

"People he hurt? Meaning, Nyela-people?" Unaril glanced at him.

Raphael winked. "Remarkable, isn't it, how swiftly one can come to fancy a person simply by being in their presence, mm? You can relate."

"Right," he laughed quietly. He tilted his head to look at the tops of the spires overhead, the sight nearly inducing vertigo as the peaks nearly disappeared into the sunny clouds. "Where are we headed?"

"You'll see. I'd like you to meet a few of my officers."

Unaril perked up a little at this, and the two continued on.

Soon they entered a darker district in a lower level of the city. The architectural quality deteriorated more and more the further they went, until Raphael turned abruptly into a shoddy shack-like door, its hinges barely holding it all together as he turned the key and pushed it open. Unaril didn't see any reason for a key in the first place; even a hard knock might do some damage.

He followed after a moment's hesitation, walking into the dark, run-down room with broken rafters and cobwebs.

"Yikes," he smirked teasingly as Raphael walked to the far wall, "I had no idea how strapped you guys are with money."

Raphael just sent him an equally-playful wink and felt along the wall, his finger landing on a notch in the wood. He looped his knuckle behind the notch, then pulled outward, and with the action, a door to his left slid open just an inch, previously disguised as uneven boards in the wall.

Unaril's long brows raised, and he remained silent as Raphael led him further in. He wasn't all too thrilled about delving deep into an abandoned shack, but when he stepped inside, he was surprised at what he saw.

The exterior of the building had deceptively hidden the value of its heart; the interior walls, unlike the warped, chipping, broken and ruined outer ones, were thick, smooth, and paneled. The floors were hardwood and clean, and the lighting was crystal-based and warm. Everything looked well-kept and new, and it even smelled pleasant, like a rosemary blend—or more specifically, like thieves' oil.

Raphael caught Unaril's expression and chuckled to himself as the two walked further in, the hidden door sliding shut behind them. He led Unaril toward the corner of the room, where a flight of descending stairs dipped below. Unaril could hear muffled voices downstairs and a constant, steady scrape of some sort of blade against a whetstone.

Raphael's steps down the stone stairs were completely silent, so silent that Unaril felt like some sort of clown as they leveled out to the large, open basement, and all nearby eyes were already on him. He merely offered a closed grin, scratching the back of his neck habitually, but the eyes never left. He didn't mind all that much, though. Attention wasn't disconcerting for him like it might be for his brother.

This place was impressive, he thought to himself as he absorbed the area. Relaxed, and not too full of people, it had tall ceilings despite it being a basement, and it was well-lit, open, and comfortably cool in temperature. It appeared to be one large central area with various stations and desks, and then different rooms and doors branching off every ten feet around the walls.

Raphael whisked forward and greeted a handful of welcoming faces, even letting one tall, fit woman pull him in for a quick hug. Unaril smiled at that and approached as well, finally feeling like he was in a situation he had control over. He was in his element here, meeting new faces, seeing new places. It was refreshing.

"Amaranth," said the human, standing almost equal height beside Raphael. Both of them still were shorter than Unaril by at least twelve inches, but she was still tall, especially for her race. "We weren't expecting you for weeks."

Raphael turned his shoulders to include Unaril. "New project," he said to her playfully. "I've a lost soul searching for a way home."

She clicked her tongue. "You always seem to find them."

Unaril exhaled through his nose in what could be a laugh, and Raphael shook his head, tilting close to her and speaking mischievously.

"This one's different," he pretended to speak secretively, his silvery voice dipping low but intentionally letting Unaril hear. "Just look at him."

"Easy on the eyes, and he does have that spark you always magnetize toward," she teased back, pushing his face away from her ear, which garnered childish laughter from him as he held his hands up innocently. She tilted her head. "Where'd you find him? You don't much recruit any Kaldorei." Her voice was somewhat deep, rich and lurid - almost loud, but not jarring.

Amused, Unaril didn't mind them speaking of him as if he weren't there. He simply let his eyes wander, half paying attention to the conversation in front of him and half perusing what others were up to. One blood elf man posed over a long desk, scribbling a note onto parchment with immense speed, apparently transcribing, and another beside him sorted through what looked like a batch of letters.

"Not where..." Raphael corrected, walking around beside Unaril. "When. He's in the wrong decade. And I'm not recruiting him, rather the other way around." Raphael then clapped a hand onto Unaril's shoulder, holding a free hand toward the woman in front of them.

"Unaril Dawnstar, meet Evangeline Harrington of Lakeshire."

Unaril offered a bright smile and shook her hand as Raphael continued speaking.

"Evangeline is in charge when I am not. She's also brilliant with our public relations."

"PR, huh?" Unaril's amber eyes twinkled as he folded his arms.

"Gotta get hired somehow," Evangeline answered. "I make it happen. If I left it up to Amaranth here, we'd all be in the stocks."

"Oh, you exaggerate," Raphael nudged her, faking offense with an overdone pout that tugged at his well-groomed facial hair.

"Do I?" Evangeline narrowed her eyes. "You once propositioned an Ironforge ambassador _after_ you killed three of her guards."

"You mean the three assassins hired to kill her? Those guards?" Raphael folded his hands behind his back. "She understood...afterward."

Evangeline stared at him accusingly, the corners of her mouth pulling up in an involuntary smile, which forced one of Unaril's own as he watched the exchange.

"Afterward?" she asked. "I haven't heard this far."

"She understood everything, post-explanation," Raphael clarified in a honeyed tone. When Evangeline's stare didn't relent, Raphael sighed. "After we discussed in length the rationale of my actions, and after I brought her to the logical conclusion that had I not been involved she'd likely be dead."

"You didn't spend enough time there to discuss that," Evangeline tilted her head. "I was there."

"The discussion didn't take place in the middle of the road."

"Then where? When?"

"You're cornering me, dearest," Raphael clicked his tongue, glancing off to the side as if trying to interest himself in something or someone else.

"It's intentional. Where?"

"Some things must remain a mystery."

"Such as you seducing a dwarven ambassador?" Evangeline bluntly concluded as she began to laugh openly. "I'd always thought your sole contact with her was in that street...when she ordered you arrested."

"And in the public eye, this is the very truth."

"Right. So, let me get this straight: you disappear for a few days on witness of your arrest; I work to ensure your arrest isn't detrimental to your guild; and then, all said and done, you show up as if nothing ever happened. At the time I assumed you simply didn't want to talk about being in jail. Now, I'm wondering if you were ever even imprisoned."

"Oh, shackles were involved, I assure you," Raphael's glowing eyes danced. "There was simply no iron cage. That's all I will say on the subject; a gentleman does not kiss and tell."

Unaril couldn't help it at this point and burst into involuntary laughter, covering his grin with one fist as he glanced to the side and tried to rein in his reaction. He hadn't said a dozen words since he'd come downstairs, and already he felt somewhat at home with these people. The frank openness between them was intriguing.

"Oh, just what we needed," Evangeline started up sarcastically as she observed Unaril's response, "someone to encourage this behavior. As if you," she gave Raphael a look, "needed further validation."

"Isn't he great?" Raphael winked.

As Evangeline began a renewed teasing rant against her guild leader, Unaril became distracted by a dark figure that approached them, built small and lithe like an acrobat, dressed in the typical black armor, and hooded.

The dark-clad man spoke in regard to Unaril, "Who's this?"

He sounded fairly young, and his voice was musical, light and velvety. He removed his hood, and Unaril saw his ears; he was almost certainly a half-elf. Otherwise, he might look entirely human. His skin was darkened by the sun, and his hair, tied in a loose, short tail at the base of his neck, was so dark that even candlelight could barely catch the fact that it was a deep, deep red, a striking contrast of dark brows over deep-set icy blue eyes.

"Ah, Zen!" Raphael greeted him happily in an interruption to his scolding, practically pirouetting as he twirled to greet him, and he clamped his hands onto the man's angular, smooth jaw and kissed him extravagantly on both cheeks.

'Zen' barely made an expression at this, save for a twitch at one corner of his mouth, but even that wasn't all that thrilled, rather a mere acknowledgement of presence. Raphael was entirely unfazed by the young man's seriousness and looped one arm over his shoulder, pointing him toward Unaril.

"This is Unaril Dawnstar, an old friend," he told Zen. "I'm helping him out on a personal matter of sorts." He lingered, eyes narrowing as he tilted his head at the half-elf. "Now, hold a moment. You were stationed south—pretty far south, really, as far south as this continent allows. You're a long way from your post, dear boy."

"Zefirino is after a girl," Evangeline pestered, and a few guild members behind her began to chuckle under their breaths.

"Can't call me that," Zen grunted.

Odd; even in distaste, his voice was pleasant to the ear.

Evangeline narrowed her eyes accusingly. "But it's your name. I should be allowed to call you by your n-"

"A girl? Really?" Raphael interrupted the argument, possibly to save the young man from further annoyance. "That's an excuse I'll accept. Oh, do tell, please. We've come here to kill time, and what better way?"

"It's none of your business," Zen sang as he slid out from under Raphael's arm, which proved quite easy as he was both shorter and slimmer than him. "And anyway, I'm headed back tomorrow. It didn't work out."

"Didn't work out?" Raphael echoed with a slight pout.

"Guild master's a parrot," Zen mumbled to himself almost amusingly as he walked further into the large room, toward what looked to be a large banquet-style table. "And here I thought I'd left the jungle."

It was uncanny how much he reminded Unaril of his own brother, as far as attitudes go. On an off day, this could easily be a conversation between Sarion and himself.

On his way, Zen swiped a few various small sacks off of a shelf and let them all tumble onto a spot at the empty table, grabbing a bottle of corked cider from an icebox beside them as well. Raphael followed after, dragging Unaril along. Evangeline followed, too, shooting Unaril a 'here we go again' sort of look.

"Zen, don't be like that, mm?" Raphael teased, pulling a chair out beside him. Zen had plopped down in his seat and pulled bits of food from each satchel for himself, eating in silence. Evangeline sat at the table and motioned for Unaril to sit, which he did, watching the half-elf interestedly. Zen didn't make much of an expression at all, not one Unaril could see, save for a look of maybe boredom, apparent in the way his brows were flat and his lids lay heavy as he shot a glance at Raphael.

"What?" Zen asked dispassionately, displeased at having been followed to his meal of harden biscuits, smoked meat, and chilled cider. "I'm just being me."

"Hm. Would you like to play a few games?" Raphael requested. "Your skill in darts is what drew my attention to you in the first place, remember?"

"Why don't we see how well your 'friend' there fares instead?" Zen retorted, pointing a cracker at Unaril. "See what he's worth, anyway. I'd like to eat in peace."

Unaril felt almost uneasy with the way the half-elf's human-like ice-cold eyes seemed so unsympathetic, the way he analyzed everything around him. Other than the coldness of his gaze, Zen appeared to be young—very young—possibly still a teenager, though one can never truly tell with some elves. Far too young to sport a disposition like the one he did, in any case. Unaril wondered what his story was, what his job was here in the guild.

Raphael brought Unaril out of his thoughts. "What do you say? Darts?"

Unaril grinned back. "Game on."

* * *

It seemed to Unaril that Raphael, although he was the boss of his guild and did command respect from his employees, was the life of the party.

No, that wasn't it. He _brought_ the party. Everywhere he went, it was always, "No! No, put down your work, we have drinks to drink and games to play!"

And despite the many weights on the back of his mind, Unaril did let loose and have a good time. By seven o'clock, even Zen had warmed up and lightened in mood, though Unaril still hadn't seen a true smile out of the kid this whole time.

He was glad Raphael was keeping track of time, because he wasn't. The blood elf checked his watch and sent Unaril a heads-up that it was time to go, and as Unaril left, he received multiple friendly pats on the shoulders and handshakes in the form of goodbyes from his new acquaintances. Unaril had noticed that the majority of Raphael's rogues were women, most of them possessing some sort of trait or skill that made them unique in some way or another. All Raphael's people seemed confident, competent, and just as cunning as their leader himself. It was an impressive group.

The pair left the way they'd come, and as Raphael slid the heavy hidden door back into place, all sounds from downstairs immediately ceased, leaving them in a silence accompanied by crickets outside.

Their walk back to the inn was also quiet, seeing as both men were deep in thought and didn't much need to talk. It wasn't until they came into sight of the inn across a large courtyard that Unaril finally started up conversation.

"What's Zen's story?"

"Zefirino Penn," Raphael said the young man's name in an immediate, friendly response, "is my son, actually."

Unaril choked on air, coughed loudly, and sputtered, unable to talk. Raphael burst into a fit of laughter at this reaction, and Unaril waited for him to say he was joking, but he didn't.

Unaril regained some normalcy, catching his breath as they neared the inn. "That's a joke, right? You're joking?"

"No! He is my son," Raphael chuckled. "He is just shy of twenty years old. Raised by his mother, Irenna Penn, who made the wise choice of keeping me absent and unawares."

"She withheld from you the fact that you fathered a child?" Unaril frowned deeply, still in shock at the entire idea of Raphael, _Raphael_ , having a kid.

"No, no, oh goodness. I knew, but she didn't want me and my lifestyle interfering in his. Smart woman."

"But he's in your guild now, so that didn't really do much, did it?"

"Maybe, but he joined by his own request. He doesn't know I'm his father, per Irenna's wish; he and I officially met just three years ago, in Stormwind, when he approached me with a game of darts and ultimately asked to join. And who am I to turn down my own kin? Irenna wasn't so happy, though."

"Isn't it strange for you? Having a child you didn't raise?" Unaril asked, this time slightly quieter. "Seeing a son of your own look at you like a stranger?"

He caught the way Raphael sent him a sideways, serious (or as serious as Raphael could be), reading glance. "Is it so for you?"

"Yes, frankly," Unaril laughed humorlessly as they reached the inn, and he opened the door, allowing Raphael to pass through first and following after. "I find it…difficult."

"I think it's fascinating," Raphael countered, pushing his way past loud patrons. This first floor was absolutely packed with people, all anywhere between tipsy and trashed.

"How so?" he nearly shouted to be heard, resorting to following the rogue through swarms of people instead of trying to walk with him.

"He's a separate being who bleeds my blood. I never thought it would seem so significant until it happened; t'was only a matter of time before it-" his voice drowned out through an eruption of excited shouts around them, and then returned, "-and until then it terrified me, of course. I suppose in a way I am glad I wasn't there through his childhood."

Unaril was about to ask why, but suddenly Raphael came to a stop and tapped a woman on the shoulder, a woman Unaril recognized as soon as she turned her head. It was the mage he'd met in Silvermoon, when he'd been stripped of his memories. Norivana's sister, the mage.

"Katerina, my dear, lovely as ever," Raphael smiled charmingly at her, and Unaril had to quell laughter at the way her whole face lit up.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, reaching over and smacking the arm of an elf next to her a little harder than was necessary. "Kanden, look who it is!" she grinned. Unaril noted that she'd been drinking tonight after the funeral and was oddly happy, given her situation of attending her parents' funeral.

The man she beckoned, Kanden, turned and reacted in the same manner as she had, brightening into a wide grin. Both of them sported red hair, Kanden's short and styled skyward, and Katerina's bobbed at her chin. They looked similar to one another, as well. Unaril wouldn't be surprised if they were both Norivana's siblings, not just Katerina.

"My, it's been years," Kanden folded his arms, the long sleeves of which were fitted and decorative, ruby red with golden cuffs. "Kat never shuts up about you."

Definitely siblings.

Raphael hummed an agreement in response, his lips twitching as he turned his sly gaze to the woman.

"Katerina, love, there is something I desperately desire from you. I hate to approach at such an inappropriate time," he gestured to the fact that she was still in her decorative, red funeral attire, "but 'tis urgent."

She tilted her head to the side, her chin dipping as she looked at him from under her brows. "Oh?"

He drew a little closer, holding her gaze. Unaril could read right into the mischief behind Raphael's green eyes; he was up to something.

"Yes," Raphael purred quietly, enough so that she had to lean in to hear him. "I long for something only you can give."

Unaril watched in hilarity from the side as her expression became enamored, her green eyes igniting as her entire body drew closer to the rogue. How the hell did he do that, have such an effect so quickly with a few choice words?

Raphael's voice was thick with allure. "I ponder it even near this day's end. I'll ponder it in slumber, and it has drawn me straight here, this...this _aching_ need of mine."

When Unaril had met Katerina, when she'd thought he was a part of the Shrouded Serpent, he'd gotten the impression she liked Raphael, sure, but he hadn't realized it was like _this_. He felt surprised that she, given the quickening of her breath and the flush that creeped its way into the delicate tips of her long ears, didn't simply launch herself at him, the way she stared at him like a cat and its prey. He knew that anyone else standing here listening to this would've felt far too uncomfortable, but he found it beyond amusing. This kind of awkwardness was - for the most part - lost on Unaril, anyways.

"May we meet? Privately?" Raphael asked her. Unaril could still see the crinkles forming at the edges of his eyes, the sign of mischief otherwise hidden.

"Yes," she blurted in a breathy voice, then quietly gawked at the vibrant way she'd responded. She blinked twice, glancing at her brother. "Kanden, home. Now."

Kanden's lip curled in defiance, about to retort, but she sent him a glare so intense that he visibly thought twice and then gave defeat. He sent Raphael an overly-friendly look and then left, gliding past the surrounding bar patrons.

Raphael slowly returned his gaze to Katerina. "So?"

"Time and place. I'm sure we can figure something out," she said in a low voice. The sultry eyes she offered him would've done some serious damage on Unaril, ten - even five - years younger.

"Wonderful! Tomorrow morning, your office," he said happily. "And I'll be accompanied by this good man." He reached out and pulled Unaril closer, and for the first time that night, Katerina acknowledged his existence.

Katerina looked at Unaril head-to-toe, disengaged, and cocked one hip, now sending Raphael a glare. "What do you really want?"

Raphael's brows shot up. "What do I really want? Your help, of course, with a very delicate magical matter. It's all very hush-hush. I'm sorry, did I indicate otherwise?"

Katerina inhaled through her flared nostrils, took a moment, exhaled, and finally relaxed a little. "Magical matter? Involving what?"

"An item you possess. Two words," Raphael held up two fingers, "that rhyme with 'I'm,' and 'hard'."

 _Time shard? Bit of a stretch,_ Unaril let whimsical laughter seep into his expression as he refrained from laughing out loud.

Katerina's stare bored into Raphael's. "Fine. But I'm busy tomorrow. Following morning, I will be there."

"You are an angel," he ducked his head to her in a faint bow.

Her eyes narrowed at him, but the corners of her red lips signified the slightest hints toward a grudging smile. "You are a demon."

"Old news, darling," he didn't miss a beat as he walked past her now, again tugging Unaril along with him by the sleeve at his elbow. Unaril, at this point, felt like his purpose today had been that of some sort of pet, like a dog on a leash. Raphael leaned in and whispered something in Katerina's ear as he walked past, something Unaril couldn't hear, and the blush he left painted on her face rivaled with the color of her hair.

"What in the world did you do to that poor woman?" Unaril accused as Raphael continued to lead them through the inn, to the opposite end. The whole place was lavish, multi-leveled, and massive, completely different from any inn Unaril had been in before, even better than the one he'd stayed at in Dalaran. No doubt it was extremely expensive, and he felt thankful toward Lucian for having paid for everyone's stay.

Raphael laughed aloud. "Oh, all in good fun. If she didn't want the attention, I'd be nursing bruises; I know her. She's usually worse than I am. If we _did_ 'meet privately,' the minx would leave me blue just when things start to sizzle. There's hard-to-get, and then there's Katerina Sunstepper."

"So, that's all you had to do here, then? Talk to Katerina about meeting up? That was quick."

"Mmhm," Raphael nodded. "What was it you had planned?"

"Nyela," Unaril searched the room for her, his eyes easily traveling over every head around him due to his height, but he did not yet see the pink hair. "I have to speak with her."

"Ah, yes, of course. Matters of the heart wait for no man."

"It's not quite a matter of th-" Unaril started, then laughed and shook his head. "I'm just telling her that I won't be coming back with them."

"Indeed," Raphael hummed. "Are you sure you want to stay here, though? I've a vintage wine collection back at HQ and some cards. Extra beds, friends, the works. Certainly better than a collection of mourning and-or drunk nobles."

"Ah, I don't know how late it will be. I'll pass; I'm sure there'll be many more chances, yeah?"

"Of course there will, but what's wrong with one more?"

Unaril gave a tired laugh and shook his head. "Sorry, man."

"All right, all right," Raphael held his hands up, then patted Unaril on the shoulder, sighing. "I'll not push any further. Think you can find your way back to headquarters tomorrow, or will you need me to find you?"

"I should be fine," Unaril gave a respectful, single nod. "Thank you, for everything."

"I'll leave the door unlocked. And look at that," Raphael looked behind Unaril, smiling. "My cue to leave."

Unaril turned and saw Nyela, a clear view of her, sitting at a small table near one wall, speaking to Sarion in a quiet, serious conversation. He looked back at Raphael, only to be met with empty air.

He brought his gaze back to her. It was strange; ever since he'd returned, each time he looked at her, he felt pain more than anything else, and it was getting worse. Whether it was because their bonding spell had broken and he was still feeling the aftershocks due to it still being so new and raw for him, or simply because he knew he couldn't have her, it hurt. A lot.

A deep, physical ache rolled through his chest, resonating out into his limbs, and he inhaled deeply, then approached her. She and Sarion both lifted their heads and quieted when he appeared, their expressions vastly different from each other and yet so similar, the way they watched him warily and carefully. As if interacting with him was like walking on eggshells.

"Hi," Unaril softly broke the silence in the calmest, gentlest tone he could muster, pulling out a chair at the small table and sitting in it, effectively filling the empty space between the two. He offered a pacifying smile and glanced down at the table for a second, gritting his teeth to steel himself. "So," he started again, "I won't be returning to the orchard with you all tomorrow. I wanted to let you both know, so there's no confusion. I...won't be back for a long time."

Chagrin flicked across Nyela's features, and Sarion's eyes merely dropped to his own hands.

"Where will you stay?" Nyela's tone almost sounded argumentative; Unaril could tell she wouldn't just sit back and let this happen, and it frustrated him.

He didn't let his frustration surface, simply stuffed it deeper into his mind. "Raphael's guild headquarters, most likely, after tonight. He's being surprisingly generous." He forgot his position and leaned forward, gaining a hint of laughter in his voice, "Who would've thought, right?"

He caught Sarion's twitch of the lips, a smile, which died out only after a second as the man still didn't meet his eyes. Still, it was something, if only fleeting.

Nyela didn't say a thing, just watched him with a saddened, guilty expression, the single worst look she could be giving him right now.

"Thank you for letting us know," Sarion spoke up at this point, frowning to himself and standing up from the table. "I need to give you two some time to talk," he sent Nyela specifically a gauging glance, one he clearly intended for her to catch, a silent communication between the two of them that Unaril could not decipher. He was glad the two of them were apparently at least working things out.

"Night," Nyela beckoned quietly, returning that same look.

"Goodnight. And Unaril," he paused before leaving, "come say goodbye in the morning?"

"Sure."

Sarion left without another word, and silence fell.

Nyela ticked one finger on the table in a slow rhythm, a quiet, soft tap that gradually drowned out the rest of the inn until it was all Unaril heard. Finally, he gave a sigh, and the sounds around him reached his ears again.

At the same time, both of them spoke.

"I'm sorry-"

Their mouths simultaneously snapped shut for the other to talk, and then Unaril melted into halfhearted laughter.

"Gods," he chuckled, "we need some work on our conversational skills, don't we?"

Nyela returned his smile, but it too was forced. "Alright if I go first?"

He nodded to her, and she glanced down at her hands, then met his eyes.

"Unaril, everything that happened between you and Sarion and me...it's not exactly your fault. And before you argue," she cut in just as his mouth had parted to object, "let me tell you my side of the story."

Unaril closed his mouth and watched her as she took a deep breath.

"Sarion and I had talked a lot about what might happen when you return. He understood that you and I love each other, and as far as I was convinced, that did not threaten him. So when you did come back, and you were so heartbroken and quiet all the time and avoided us, we came to a decision." She paused a second. "Sarion was willing to make this work for all three of us. For you and me, and for me and him. For lack of a better word, you'd...share. It's not entirely unheard of, and it seemed to be the best option."

Seconds ticked by slowly as Unaril processed, his expression becoming a mixture of concern and deep thought.

Nyela continued. "We decided to talk to you, together, to propose this idea and give you the option. But then I..." A sniff came as she forced her composure, "I started to worry. I started to think it would spook you, that you'd feel like you were invading or something, and I thought if we told you, you would leave. So I acted rashly. I didn't think. I pursued you and kept it all a secret, pushed and pushed until you gave in. I thought that if you felt that I wanted _you_ , you would stay. I know, it was extremely stupid of me."

More silence, and she wiped a hidden tear from under her bottom lashes. "So when Sarion, who was under the impression you and I had barely exchanged ten words since you got back, heard that you and I were sneaking around in private, he assumed you'd been lying to him this whole time, and that you'd 'stolen' me."

Nyela swept another tear from her cheek. "It was all my fault. It was deceitful and manipulative, and I am so sorry. I did this, not you. I made the choice to keep you both in the dark, and then you both got hurt."

Unaril remained quiet for a very long time, letting his mind whirl with everything she'd just said as he stared at the marble grain of the table top.

He ultimately let his shoulders relax, leaning his elbows forward on the table and gently taking one of her hands in his. "You weren't the only one who chose silence over communication. I had so many chances to talk, and yet I avoided contact. I bet the three of us would've had that conversation a dozen times by now if I hadn't forced distance between us all, forced you to give me space-"

"-But that does not at all mean that you forced me to-"

"-Regardless of blame," Unaril gave her a warm yet painful smile, "I'll judge by Sarion's reaction," he pointed at where the scar was on his cheekbone, "he may be a lot less accepting of this 'sharing' ordeal than he puts on. Therefore, either way, this wouldn't have worked out. And who knows? Might've been worse. I think we all know that you'd ultimately have to choose, Nyela."

Seconds ticked by, the air between them becoming thick with battling emotions.

"It's never even been a choice between you," Nyela confessed, her voice nearly a whisper. "Not since I lost you."

His brows tensed. He was unsure, actually, what she meant by this. Did she mean she chose Sarion, or him? And which of those two answers scared him more?

She stared down at her hands, picking at the skin around a fingernail. "The choice has always either been having both of you together, or..."

Unaril watched her closely as she now massaged her fingers into her temples.

"Both of you together, or just him," she finally worked out. "There's no choice between you two. I'd never ever not be with Sarion. He's been my life for thirty years, and that's not going to stop." Tears escaped her lids.

Unaril, to his own surprise, felt tension leaving his shoulders at hearing this. Sure, it hurt like hell, but it was exactly what he needed. He gave a wry laugh, quiet and humorless.

"Ah, that's actually a relief-" he began, but his words broke off when a wave of deep, intense pain ebbed through his head, an abrupt stabbing headache that seemed to shatter through the base of his neck and take hold right behind his left eye. He grimaced immediately, gasping silently through his nose as his thoughts were whisked away with the pain.

"Unaril?" she asked, her voice just barely rising in slight concern as he scrunched his eyes shut and braced his forefingers against his temples.

"Headache," he grunted after a second. Then there came another wave stronger than the rest, a pulse of pure pain that hit him so strongly it fried every thought in his head for a good five seconds, before it faded just as quickly and left him weak.

"Headache?" Nyela's voice held worry, clearly flustered. " _I_ have a headache right now. You have something worse. Your skin just went ashen white, Unaril."

Again, the migraine surged, and Unaril tightened his hands to fists, realizing only now that no headache could so suddenly drain him of energy this fast. This was magic, a magic he'd never experienced firsthand before, and he felt it conflicting with his own pool.

"This is-" he melted into a deep, quiet groan again when his head pounded. "D-dark. Dark energy."

"What?!" Nyela straightened up, searching around them in alarm with intense, darting golden eyes. "Are you being attacked?"

Unaril had no idea. He couldn't much sense fel energy here specifically, because nearly half the people around him had ingested it in small doses. Pinpointing would be impossible, not to mention he'd never felt something like this. It was like he was being drained. Not his energy, but himself.

"I..." he felt too exhausted to speak further as he tried to fight it.

Then, as suddenly as it'd arrived, it began to fade. It seeped away bit by bit, to where ultimately all he was left with was a mild, annoying throb in his temples, like an aftershock.

Nyela stared at him in shock, frozen in place. "Are you alright?"

"I think so," Unaril frowned deeply, now questioning himself in the first place. Had it been what he thought it was, or had it just been a really awful headache? He'd heard of them before, the ones people claimed felt like an icepick hacking into one's skull for a quarter of a minute and then vanishing. Had magic even been involved?

"I think it was just a freak migraine," he forced himself to laugh it off, yet all the while began building up walls, using his own natural energy pool to create an invisible fortification. "Don't worry. No magic."

Along with healing, warding off unfriendly magic was one of the things he'd studied in depth, specifically that of demons. After what'd happened with Sarion the first time around, Unaril had spent the full year of their return, the year with Nyela, studying. He knew what to do, as long as he wasn't caught off-guard. He just wasn't entirely sure that was the same as this.

"We should take you back to the orchard," she said in genuine concern. "You need to see Lucian about this, Unaril. It might be some sort of effect from the time shard."

He hadn't thought about it like that, and he realized she had a point. But, at the same time, he shook his head. "I'm doing something here in Silvermoon, working with Raphael. Katerina Silverpaw apparently still has the time shard and keeps it in her office. We're going to try to fix what we can, to fix time."

He noticed that his residual headache suddenly vanished, leaving him in a blissful state of what felt like euphoria, in comparison to how he'd felt before.

"What do you mean?"

"We might be able to fix it all. Send me back to where, or when, I belong." His shoulders relaxed at the lack of pain.

Her eyes widened, and her mouth snapped shut. Unaril could've sworn he saw fear flash across her features, and he gave her a look of surprise.

"What?" he pressed.

Her stare darted back and forth between his amber glow. "So what would that mean?"

"I'm...I'm not entirely sure."

"You're going to undo the past thirty years?"

He caught the uncertainty and concern lacing her question, and suddenly he understood. Only now did he realize how much he'd be changing by going back. Nyela had a daughter with Sarion. They raised a family together for thirty years. What would happen if he returned? Would any of that even exist? He couldn't possibly manipulate her entire life like that, solely for himself.

His entire demeanor dropped, and he stared hopelessly at the marble under his elbows. "Oh, yikes."

Nyela swallowed hard, and spoke up. "But...if it is what you need to do, I..." she paused, voice cracking, "I can't stop you. You have just as much a right as-"

"I can't," Unaril said quietly. "I can't. Your family. Your entire life. I can't possibly do it, especially after what you've just told me about choosing Sarion."

The silence that ticked by there between them stretched along for what became minutes, the two deep in thought with hard expressions of both pain and defeat.

"I'm sorry, Nyela," Unaril finally murmured softly, almost inaudible due to the sound of other inn patrons. "I'm so sorry, the pain this has caused."

"I'm sorry, too," she reached out and took his hand. Whereas Unaril normally would have given anything to feel her touch, this just intensified that ache in his chest, that deep pain that felt assuredly like a farewell.

He'd been okay up to this point. He'd handled what he could and kept his exterior relatively calm. But now, Unaril knew this was goodbye. Up until this point he'd convinced himself that he still had a chance. He still had hope. He'd put his faith in that shard to piece all the torn, shattered pieces of his life back together, but now he had to let everything go. All of it.

He wanted to grasp her hand and tell her he was hers, always, no matter what. He wanted to throw all care to nothing and take what he wanted, to not worry about anything but the love they held for each other. He wanted to be selfish, to take back his life, the life and love that'd been ripped from his fingers, the children he'd lost, the _world_ he'd lost.

But he could not, and they both knew it.

He felt his eyes moistening, felt the sting of threatening tears, and squeezed her hand as he forced himself to give everything up.

* * *

Across the room, a dark figure sat in shadows, observing two young elves enduring the struggle of first love's disappointment. A new idea, different than the plan he'd currently enrolled, sparked in his mind as he listened in on their conversation. At first it'd all been the typical, 'it's not you, it's me," between them, and discussions of blame. He'd become quite bored with it. But then, their mention of a new variable piqued his curiosity. It's not every day one hears of something to 'fix time.'

In his fingers he twirled a dark, small, angular stone, relinquishing the soul tether he'd latched between the stone and the male elf. He leaned back in his seat, watched, listened, and waited patiently for the opportune moment to advance.

* * *

Unaril nursed his second tankard full of dark red ale generously, staring across the marble table at a dark wall, in front of which Nyela had sat only fifteen minutes earlier. She'd left crying, which had started when she saw his eyes watering. At that point no further conversation could be made, and so she ultimately had to excuse herself and retire to her room.

Thus Unaril had immediately grabbed his own room key, but instead of heading upstairs, he found himself buying a dark ale, and then another after the first one disappeared within minutes.

He was so caught up in his own thoughts that he didn't notice a certain gentleman approach him, and only when the man placed his own drink on the small marble table and sat in an empty seat did Unaril blink and acknowledge him.

"Hello," the bronze-skinned human greeted him in a voice equally aged and youthful, his intense grey eyes glinting in the light like cold steel. "Alistair Clement," he introduced himself, and then leaned both forearms against the table. "I am curious; how did you know the deceased?"

"I'm sorry?" Unaril asked, caught off-guard.

"You're at a wake, are you not?" the man lifted one thick brow. "Did you know the Sunsteppers?"

"Oh! Right," Unaril laughed a little uneasily. "That's actually…not why I came, it's just…um…timing." His fluency would've been far greater without the alcohol in his system, of course.

"Oh? I was simply judging by that kicked-cub gloom," Alistair added lightly, drinking a small helping of his own glass. "If not that, then you're here for the festival?" He produced a jesting pout. "Shopping didn't go well?"

"What?" Unaril couldn't help but give a mild laugh.

"Not here for the funeral, therefore you must be here for the Winter Veil celebrations. Such is the only activity that could match that jolly twinkle in your eyes," he said sarcastically.

"No, no," Unaril shook his head.

"Nevermind, I yield, I witnessed the interaction between you and the young woman you were with."

Unaril grimaced. "You did?"

"I've had my let-downs over the years," Alistair kicked back his drink entirely and beckoned the attention of a nearby barman, requesting a refill, and then returned his intense stare to Unaril. "And I know that a look like yours," he gestured toward him, "is always about a woman."

"An accurate assumption, in my case," Unaril relented.

"Story here? What's her name?"

Unaril scrunched his brows. Now, if he were sober, he would be far less likely to vent his deepest and most personal problems to a complete stranger in a foreign city, but Unaril was a wreck. He'd just lost the love of his life due to his own morals, and his self-pity now easily reached the point of self-loathing. He had never in his life felt so low.

"Fucking time travel," Unaril grumbled and finished off his drink just as the barman arrived with Alistair's drink, and Alistair without question ordered for Unaril another.

Unaril held up a finger. "I—," he wasn't sure if he was about to say, 'can't afford' or simply, 'shouldn't', but Alistair interrupted either way.

"Drinks are on me, friend," Alistair reached out and patted his shoulder. "Although, coffee may be better given the way you're careening in your seat. Now what did you just say? 'Fucking Time Travel?' That's a very odd name for a young woman."

"No, that's not her..." Unaril gave a helpless sigh. "She isn't-"

"Jesting."

"Yeah," Unaril ran a palm heavily over his own face, groaning inwardly as he felt the copious amount of ale he'd ingested catching up with him all at once. "Time travel. It's not at all as cool as it sounds," he shook his head, then immediately regretted it because he became dizzy. "Don't ever try it, alright? You seem a competent enough fellow to follow that one rule."

The man said nothing, just quirked his expression as if awaiting further explanation. Unaril waited a few seconds as he gathered his thoughts, which were muddier than normal. He'd been drunk before, but this was strange; he couldn't much focus on anything other than the question he'd been silently asked.

"There's this shard, see," Unaril finally gave in to explain. "A man stabbed me with it, and I jumped forward in time thirty years."

"And you're in the same timeline as the one you left?"

"What?"

"This is the same...what do we call it...universe? Your past remains linear?"

"Yes," Unaril narrowed his eyes in thought. That wasn't a question he'd expected, rather something more along the lines of, 'how did it work?' or 'did it hurt?'

"Fascinating," Alistair looked energized. His steel-grey eyes glinted sharply. "And where did you say it is?"

"Why do you ask?"

"I am curious. I study all sorts of magics, but I have never heard of something that allows for a linear transference. Do you think it would work, say, in reverse?"

"Well, that's what I was betting on," Unaril sighed. "But I have no idea. Doesn't matter anymore anyways."

"Where is it?" the question was more direct, sharper in tone, almost demanding.

Unaril sobered at the sudden change. "Katerina S-"

"Sunstepper has it; yes, I know, but where?"

"How do you kno-"

"Where?"

"Possibly in her office?" Unaril eyed him carefully. "I'm sorry, but I'm suddenly feeling quite tired. I'd like to excuse myself."

"Certainly; it is late," Alistair's entire mood switched to complacent, and he offered a hand to shake. "Pleasure meeting you, Mister-?" he awaited a name.

"Unaril Dawnstar," he shook Alistair's hand as they both stood, and simple as that, Unaril's head cleared. It felt like a fog had lifted from his mind, and he felt stupid for having let himself become drunk so easily, and relieved that it'd worn off so soon.

"Dawnstar," he bowed his head slightly. "Until we meet again."

Unaril gave him a polite nod, and then headed off to find his room.

* * *

 _Alistair_

* * *

As he watched the cerulean-haired elf disappear up the stairs, Alistair leaned his chin into his thumb and forefinger, running through his thoughts.

This, meeting the Dawnstar man and learning of the shard, changed everything for him.

For thirty years now, Alistair had been slowly chipping away at this family. An unfortunate accident here, an unsolved murder there, stretching out over three decades and spread across friends and family of the Silverpaw/Sunstepper clan, had kept hounds off his trail and yet allowed him to torment the people he hated most.

To top that off, each life he took generated a new trophy for him to keep. Soulstones, of which he'd now filled nearly two dozen, could be created as long as he tethered them to his target prior to his or her execution. Some people, he'd observed, reacted strongly to the action of tethering, whereas others noticed nothing at all. It generated a variable pain in the skull when done without consent, or at least that was where the complaints usually pointed. He assumed it had something to do with the strength and/or type of magic the individual possessed.

Thankfully none of his tethered targets had managed to survive the ordeal, and therefore couldn't exactly warn others of the danger that followed the headaches.

He liked to keep the soulstones mostly just as mementos, but they did serve a purpose. He could either absorb the energy for power, or, if done properly, he could use them as a safety net in case he ever did manage to die. The power in a single soulstone could bring him back from the edge, and he had two dozen.

So that's what he'd been doing, on and off, for years and years.

At this point, though, despite the number of people he'd managed to check off his list, he became unbearably bored. It had proven a mundane task. Kill a person, store his essence, reap the entertainment that followed. Rinse, and repeat. Over and over.

But with his boredom had come boldness, and he'd stepped up his game with the Sunstepper nobles here in Silvermoon. Burning their entire house to ashes with them inside wasn't an easy task, and he'd had to time it properly so as to not be discovered by guards until the deed was done. But the result was even better than he'd hoped for. He'd assumed maybe the Sunstepper offspring, Norivana, Katerina, and Kanden, would attend, but he hadn't anticipated Norivana's entire family to attend as well. Her children and her husband were all there, and he'd decided that day to simply finish them all off. He'd toyed with them how he'd pleased, and now he could watch them burn.

That's what he'd been planning on doing five minutes from now, actually. Wait until they were all asleep, and torch the place. They were far from home, defenseless. Fish in a barrel.

That would have generated a chain reaction. Their children would come to their funerals. A larger gathering, everybody there. More fish. Smaller barrel.

But then he'd heard Unaril speaking to the Silverpaw girl. Controlling time could add an entirely new edge he was missing here. He could go far back, as far as necessary, and infiltrate and manipulate and stir. They wouldn't know him if he went back far enough. He could 'befriend' them. He could turn them against each other. Killing them now wouldn't be necessary.

So, it was settled.

He needed to get his hands on that relic.


	5. Breadcrumbs

**So, three months on the dot. That's a biiiig gap. That's the longest break I've taken in three years, I believe. :\** **I'm so sorry, and thanks all for being patient. :) I have so many big plans for this story, and I can't wait to get them all rolling! (Mini Spoiler: We're bringing back old characters from Breaking Faith)**

 **I see I have private messages as well, and I'll get to those when I can! Thanks everyone! :)**

* * *

 **Review Responses:**

 **Jay: That _would_ be extremely cool... It'd be a hell of a project, but definitely would add a new edge and perspective to stories... That's an awesome idea. :D As for Reece, I agree, that was horribly evil of me. *cackle***

 **Willowstar157: Bahahaha, Dragon Age Bae. That's perfect. xD Duncan/Alistair was actually a tribute to Dragon Age... I took my two favorite characters from Origins, Duncan and Alistair, and turned them into a slimeball. What a way to appreciate, huh? ;P**

 **MelanaAdara: Torturing OCs: World of Warcraft Edition. That's what we should call our stories... Hehe.**

 **Den of Meade: Nah, you're not a terrible reviewer... I don't know if there is such a thing, save for unnecessary flaming, which I thankfully have mostly sidestepped thus far.. Hahaha. Speaking of terrible, I get the terrible author badge for waiting three entire freaking months to post. ;P I apologize!**

 **Happily Eric After: Oh I definitely have plans for Raphael, and putting him in new territory.. :D And I just saw your request for Finn and a Nyela/Fenris portrait! I actually have a picture of Finn, and all I have to do is add his glasses... :P**

 **Darkblight: HRRNGGGH I'M SO SORRYY D:**

 **Ihsan997: Yes, Alistair. Please, for the love of all that makes sense, fall and break your teeth. ;D**

 **Zarabethe: He is _such_ a slut. It never ends. NO SHAME. Hahahha. And yes, dragon-man. Die. Now. ALSO, I'm finally getting back into drawing and writing and stuff and I'll be able to catch up on all your amazing stories and I'm so pumped. It might be a month from now but it's happening, dude!**

* * *

 **Music Suggestion! Cinematic Orchestra – To Build a Home**

 **It's what I used as inspiration.**

* * *

Early morning birdsong gradually woke Unaril from a dreamless sleep, but he remained there in his temporary bed with his eyes closed, the cool breeze from the adjacent window trickling over his arms and causing his exposed flesh to dot itself with goosebumps. The air carried the scent of some sort of flower, sweet and potent, surprising given the season. It was such a familiar scent, painfully so, and with it suddenly arose old, forgotten memories.

In a moment, Unaril felt like he was back home. Not in the orchard, but really home, in Ashenvale, as a young child. Beside him would snooze his twin brother, likely face-down with his scruffy head mushed in a feather pillow. Each morning their mother would enter their room quietly to check on them. By now he could not remember her face, nor even the sound of her voice. But he remembered the sweet fragrance of honeysuckle that would reach his nose as she would lean in and gently brush her fingers through his blue hair.

Unaril would always pretend he was still sleeping; soon as he woke, he'd be assigned to doing chores, so he would wait there, quiet and still, hoping she'd leave before he was found out. He guessed now that she likely already knew, which only strengthened the ache in his heart.

This, he realized, was his final memory of her.

The nostalgia was so great that he felt a lump forming in the back of his throat, bittersweet emotions toying at him. He thought he'd forgotten everything about her, save for her name. Sarion always claimed to remember their parents clearly, but Unaril could not. Not until now. And once he opened his eyes, the magic would break, and his world would return. He would no longer be seven years old, without a care in the world except how to fill his day.

Unaril's lids parted, letting in the diffused light in the room, and he gave a soft sigh and hoisted himself up and out of bed. He stretched his limbs and arched his back, the action deeply satisfying as he cracked his knuckles, as well as a few random vertebrae and even -oddly enough- something his sternum, in the process. He tugged on some wool trousers, his pair of comfortable boots, and a deep grey shirt. After straightening up the small rental room, he grabbed his pack, swung it over one shoulder, and set off to find his brother. He knew Sarion was in one of the adjacent rooms, and he was lucky enough to find him on the first try.

The door was already open, and Unaril knocked and peeked his head in. Sarion was the only one in there; Nyela must have gone downstairs already.

Sarion sat on the edge of his bed, fitting clothing into a bag that rested between his large feet, and he lifted his head and beckoned Unaril in. Unaril let the door ease half-shut behind him and leaned against the wall beside the bed.

"What's up?" Sarion asked absently, attention still fully vested in his clothes.

"I remembered Mom this morning," Unaril started up conversation immediately, skipping any small talk that might've taken place.

Sarion paused, looking at him with his head tilted, trying to read him silently.

"Not Catalpa. I mean our mother, who died. I thought I'd forgotten her," Unaril added, staring down at his feet thoughtfully.

Sarion didn't move a muscle.

Unaril smiled as his thoughts wandered. "Remember how you and I had to share a bed until we were twelve?"

Sarion gave a quiet laugh, finally moving forward to grab an article of clothing. "Oh, wow. Yes. Some things change for the better."

"You threw up on me once," Unaril accused, a grin covering his mouth. Sarion dipped into controlled laughter as Unaril continued, "That's one of the only things I remember about sharing a bed. You fell sick one night and puked on me. You never ever apologized for that."

"And I never will," Sarion snickered, leaning back over and stuffing a shirt into his bag. "Just like you will never admit that after we finally got our own rooms, you still came and slept at the foot of my bed for the following two weeks."

"Didn't happen," Unaril shook his head as he approached and sat beside Sarion. He put his hand to his forehead. "Oh man, remember that one time we found an entire flask of berry cordial and gave it to Lucian?"

Sarion's laughter renewed, and he had to let his head hang as he scrunched his eyes shut, seemingly regretting the memory entirely. "We told him it was a growth potion."

"And that it wouldn't work unless he drank the whole thing."

"He was wasted. Poor kid got in so much trouble."

Unaril flopped backward onto the bed, folding his hands together behind his head. "How about that time when you accidentally punched a dryad? Or when Lena was a year old and you dropped her on her head and she got that cut on her forehead, and you blamed Lucian? Oh," he pointed excitedly, "when you were sixteen and you went through your 'musical' phase and learned to play a lute..."

"Why are you doing this to me?" Sarion groaned good-naturedly, scooting backward. "You know I have far more embarrassing memories of you than you of me. Let's see..." he began counting on his fingers. "You didn't learn to read until you were ten years old, and I was the one who finally taught you; you used to cry unrelentingly if you saw anyone else crying, especially Gladia; I still haven't told anyone about the time when you ate a rabbit pebble because I convinced you they were berries, or when we were teenagers and you panicked when you started growing hair on your-"

"-Chin," Unaril sat up and grabbed a decorative red and silver pillow, sloughing it straight into Sarion's chest. "I yield, you win," he snickered.

Sarion tossed the cushion aside, sitting somewhat cross-legged as he smiled reminiscently. "No responsibilities growing up."

"None at all," Unaril leaned his elbows on his knees. "Merely a check-in-every-four-hours-so-we-know-you-two-aren't-dead sort of deal that we had going with Catalpa."

The dark twin stared at Unaril for a few heavy seconds, his expression dropping. "Do you have to leave, Unaril?" Given the way his frown tugged at the corners of his mouth, Sarion looked like he was pouting, which was comical enough on its own without his overly-regretful tone of voice.

"Well, no," Unaril smirked, straightening his posture again as he inhaled deeply. "But I would like to. Even if I can't-" he hesitated, about to say 'go back in time,' but he didn't want to delve into that issue right now, not after he'd already made up his mind not to do it. "Even if I can't...stay here in Silvermoon, I'll be gone a while. Some space should help."

"Kinda sucks, doesn't it?"

"Hmm?"

"We spent all this time wishing you could come home, and then we drove you away," said Sarion wryly. "Whoops."

"I don't think it was in your control," Unaril shrugged. "Some situations just suck. And hey, it'll be beneficial for me to branch out. Who knows? Maybe I'll, y'know, meet someone else." Saying that aloud put a bad taste in his mouth, but he ignored the harsh feeling of loss in his heart. It'd put his brother at peace to know he was moving on.

His brother's brows arched for half a second. "Now _that_ would be...convenient."

"Wouldn't it?" he sighed wistfully. "To put everything behind us and open a new chapter. It'll happen, one way or another, with or without another person."

"You so sure about that? She isn't over you, and you're not faring any better."

"She's made her choice," Unaril smiled wanly at his hands. "From the very beginning, I think. It's always been you, Sarion."

Sarion's brows tightened skeptically. "We're talking about the same woman?"

"It's what we discussed last night. She chose you. Said it's either you and me, or just you. And I think we both know it can't be the former. Your insecurity is besting you."

He saw how a myriad of emotions, barely expressed but still present, flipped across his brother's face, the strongest of which being a form of melancholy relief. Given the way Sarion's amber eyes darted about the room as if reading a page, Unaril could tell that he was sorting out his thoughts, his words, trying to formulate a proper response. He silently let him think, not wanting to interrupt whatever train of thought might be rushing around that brain of his.

"I'm relieved to hear that. I had this big speech prepared, the whole spiel," Sarion smirked.

"Oh, yeah?"

He nodded. "Oh yeah. Was gonna make a point on how different our loves are for Nyela."

"Speech me," Unaril held his arms out, donning a sideways, natural smile. "You've hooked me; you can't stop there."

Sarion smirked to himself, glancing down at his feet for a couple seconds as he gathered his thoughts again. "I've spent three decades loving her, and you've spent give-or-take a year. That doesn't mean I'm belittling or devaluing your feelings, don't get me wrong. You're in love with Nyela, sure, but you're in love with the Nyela you knew thirty years ago. I'll bet that if you just spend a full day or two with her and really, deeply observe, you will realize that she is not the woman you think you know. She's not the woman you love, Unaril. I'll bet that if I were to meet the Nyela _you_ love, she and I would in fact be far too incompatible. We've lived through so much together, neither of us are the same people we were three decades ago."

At first, Unaril felt defensive. He wanted to argue, and he wanted to claim his love was ageless. But Sarion had a point, and Unaril couldn't ignore it. How much time _had_ he spent with her since he'd returned? How much had he truly spoken with her, deeply? Their connection, he knew, was already different. It'd been stressed and strained and difficult ever since he'd arrived; he hadn't had a chance to see the Nyela he knew, not yet. What if she wasn't even there? According to her husband, she wasn't.

"You know you sound like Lucian right now, right?" Unaril hummed quietly, after a heavy moment's pause. "Here I liked to tell myself I was the wiser of the two of us."

"Well," Sarion donned a light smirk, one eye crinkling, "I am twice your age."

"Hmph," Unaril responded with a halfhearted chuckle. Nearly ten quiet seconds dragged by, both of them staring at the floor, before he spoke up again. "You do know, then, why I am leaving, yeah?"

"I thought we just discussed that. You'll have to fall in love with someone new anyway, be it Nyela or someone else. It's preferable to make that someone not your brother's wife," Sarion half-smirked.

"Says you, of all people," Unaril countered, and then lost his humor. "Finding love is not my intention, Sarion. I want to be able to come home. That's why I must leave."

"That's like throwing up your food so you can eat more," Sarion mumbled.

Unaril's shoulders relaxed as he snorted into unexpected laughter. "No, no it's not. What-"

"You are home."

"It's not _my_ home."

"Then let us help you _make_ it your home, Unaril," Sarion pleaded, standing. "Give us all a second chance to-"

"Do I really need to pull the 'it's not you, it's me' thing?" Unaril laughed. "There are no 'chances.' I am distancing myself from a toxic situation that I caused, and giving us all a chance to recover before I return."

A muscle at the corner of Sarion's dark-bearded jaw pulsed erratically, but he appeared defeated.

Unaril sent him a placating smile. "Honestly, I'm simply relieved that I didn't skip forward thirty years to find a dead orchard, a scattered family, and my brother tainted with demons. All of this, what I'm working through right now, is a blessing." He smirked. "A horribly shitty blessing, but a blessing."

Moments passed.

"And now," Unaril straightened tall, opening his arms wide, "this is my goodbye."

Sarion slung his pack over his shoulder and regarded his twin with a bittersweet half-smile, and he walked in for a quick, tight hug, speaking as he patted Unaril on the back reassuringly.

"Good luck, brother."

"Likewise."

Sarion left the room.

Unaril remained there longer than he meant to. He fell deep into a numb, quiet state, his thoughts slow-moving.

Eventually, his energy returned, and he set off as well to find Raphael's headquarters. The thought of seeing the leader himself put a faint smirk on his face, and heavens knew he needed some humor today.

* * *

Unaril rested one arm against the marble bar, spinning a chewed toothpick in a small glass of malt whiskey. He'd gotten lost. He wasn't embarrassed to admit it. Or, at least, to himself, that is.

He'd searched for the headquarters for what had felt like hours, until finally giving up and heading into what looked like a higher-end tavern to find food. He'd eaten, and the food was well-prepared, but now he'd somehow moved on to whiskey, and stayed there.

His eyes traveled about, not seeing as much as simply being the only part of him that moved. Soon they brushed over the bartender, whom he hadn't actually taken a moment to really notice when he'd ordered his drink. There was a look about her that intimidated him, indiscernible as to whether it was the fact that she was unbelievably gorgeous, or the fact that she looked like she could take down anyone in here with one hand held behind her back. She was healthily built, fit and strong and somewhat short in stature, which made any curves on her body more dramatic. Her shirt was generously revealing, and she wore her hair in a half-braided style that looped over one shoulder and became a mess of loose brunette waves. He watched as she mixed drinks at the full bar one after the other, like she didn't even have to think about her hands anymore. She and two other bartenders worked the long counter like a well-oiled machine.

He didn't notice the seat to his right become occupied, and as he lifted his drink in one hand, he heard a recognizable, liquid voice sound right next to him.

"Of all things in this bar to stare at, you certainly chose the second best."

Unaril glanced over to see that Raphael had taken the seat beside him and was giving him that smug half-smirk with one side of his mouth.

As soon as Unaril made eye contact, Raphael's green eyes brightened. "And now you've seen the best! How could your day get any better?"

"How in the world did you find me?" Unaril asked him curiously, though his tone was more gruff than he'd expected it to be.

"Pardon?"

"I may have...misplaced your headquarters."

"You are referring to the headquarters in the alleyway behind this bar?"

A pause.

"Seriously?" Unaril made a face and took a drink.

Raphael took in the man's state in a matter of two seconds, patted one hand against Unaril's shoulder, and then kept his hand in place as he leaned over the bar to look at the bartender, moving on from the current conversation and returning to the prior. "She is _very_ pretty. You look like you could use some 'pretty' this evening."

"I don't…use," Unaril replied quietly, and nursed his drink. His mood was worsening with every sip of his alcohol, a complete opposite of what he was used to.

"Oh!" Raphael reacted like he'd been shot, but he shook his head quickly, laughing as though impressed. "You twist words almost as badly as I do."

Unaril glanced over at him and gave him a studying look. Raphael's expression mirrored his, though maybe with a lot less negativity.

"Never hit the bottle troubled, my friend," Raphael finally sighed understandingly, and then he winked. "And if that's too absurd, just don't do it without a more experienced inebriate like me there to champion your cause."

Another pause while the guy sniffed once musingly. "I'm not kidding when I say a pretty face can at least help, Dawnstar. And of course," he grinned, "I'll always be around to offer a helping hand. A leg up, as it were."

Unaril finally relented a laugh, practically rolling his eyes as he did so. "You have no shame, do you?"

"No, no, I lost it when I lost my general sense of sanity, as well as the need for approval. You've a long life ahead of you. It'll happen one day for you too, just you wait." The Rogue leaned over the counter again and signaled a nearer male bartender for a drink of his own. As his glass was filled before him, he turned his head toward Unaril in a sort of tilted, leaning manner. "So?"

"So, what?"

"Do you need…help?"

Unaril glanced his eyes toward the pretty bartender again without thinking, but then he laughed. "No. I don't mend that way. Thanks for the concern, though."

Raphael caught that single-second glance, and he smirked. "All well and good anyways; I know for a fact she'd never so much as kiss you."

Unaril lifted his brows. "You're that certain, are you?" He finally felt a humorous tone peeking through his own voice that made him feel a little more at home.

"Oh, I'm entirely sure. I'll bet my own mustache. And I love my mustache."

Unaril straightened his posture. "I may have been dead for a total of a hundred and thirty years, but that in no way puts off my game."

"I'll put gold on it, too, Dawnstar," the Rogue chuckled, more energetic now that the conversation had reached gambling. "I'll bet a single piece, because I know you will lose, and I don't want to be an outright thief, not against you. You, my dear, cannot win a kiss from _her_."

Unaril set his drink forward on the counter, closed his eyes, and let out a humorous sigh. He really wasn't about to take a bet like this, was he? Did he have anything better to do?

"Fine," he stood up, shooting Raphael a challenging smirk and patting his chair once. "Better find yourself a barber."

Raphael seemed unafraid, and he waved him off. "I'll be watching."

Unaril, as he approached the girl, immediately regretted his decision. She was clearly already annoyed at one of her patrons, who appeared to be giving her unwanted extra verbal attention.

"You have the wrong plumbing," she started bluntly. "If I wanted company in the manner you're suggesting, I'd far more likely choose your sister," her tone was matter-of-fact, leaving the drunken patron with his mouth propped slightly ajar.

Sister?

 _Oh_.

Unaril knew at this point he'd already lost that precious gold coin, but still he found an open seat and grudgingly sat in it, not wanting to show he'd given up. Maybe this was why Raphael was so confident; maybe he'd caught onto the conversations over here already and had come to the conclusion that she doesn't even like men.

Unaril sighed, laughing defeatedly to himself, and glanced back toward Raphael. The man didn't appear to be watching, but Unaril saw a blatant grin fall on the guy's face as soon as he glanced his way. Hmm.

A hand smacked the bar in front of him two quick times to grab his attention, and Unaril looked forward only to be met face-first by the target of his bet. She was even prettier up close, and her expression held none of the animosity she'd been giving the patron a few seats down.

"Why'd you switch places, Kal'dorei? Amaranth give you too much grief? He does that," she smirked at him, and Unaril blinked once.

"You and Raphael know each other?" he kept his voice low so the Rogue wouldn't hear.

She gestured yes, and Unaril groaned inwardly. She squinted her eyes at this.

"And that is a bad thing because..?" she coaxed. He opened his mouth to speak, but she interrupted him. "And what is it you're drinking, by the way?" she asked like she was preparing to serve another.

"Oh, no drink," he waved one hand. "And it's not bad for anyone but me. I now assume he's playing me. Badly."

"Oh," she appeared mildly sympathetic. "Might I ask the game?"

Unaril offered her a trademark grin of his, hinted in a humorous remorse. "He bet against my chances of getting a kiss from the lovely bartender. I accepted before understanding your…fundamentals," he chuckled.

Her brows lifted, a smile covering her mouth. "I see."

He began to slide back from his seat. "You're quite busy, though, so I'll leave you alone."

"Now hold on," she cut, leaning in against the bar to draw closer to him, speaking now in a quieter tone. "How much did he bet?"

"A single gold coin," Unaril shrugged, and then caught himself, "Oh, and his mustache." He resisted a smile as her interest heightened immensely.

"What?!" the woman's eyes widened, and her mouth fell open hilariously. "No! Really?"

"That is what he said!" he laughed. The two were still speaking quietly, but their behavior had become animated.

"He loves that mustache more than his own mother!" she giggled, baffled, and then put one hand on Unaril's forearm. "Alright, come with me," she said, surprising him and a few surrounding people by hopping up over the bar rather than going around, and she slid off next to Unaril and tugged him to Raphael.

"Amaranth," she said loudly, smugly, and he regarded her with an innocent, equally-playful expression.

"Yes, my dear?"

"I haven't seen your upper lip since we were teenagers."

He opened his mouth to speak, eyes widening even though they somehow kept that crinkle at each corner, but Unaril's field of vision changed as his chin was pulled downward and sideways, and suddenly he was being kissed.

He stiffened for a tenth of a second before he kissed her back; he'd expected a light peck, but the way he interpreted this now was that she was rubbing it in Raphael's face by taking her sweet time and being delightfully thorough.

She pulled away, leaving him almost in a daze, and he had to blink twice before remembering to breathe.

"My name's Joy, by the way, Joy Roseborne," she patted Unaril on the shoulder as she then turned to Raphael. "And you now have a debt to pay."

Raphael's arms fell outward in an accusing gesture, though packed with humor as always. Unaril wondered if it was at all possible for the guy to be serious. Only time he'd seen him without that near-smirk on his face had been in Ephraim's vaults, but Unaril's focus had been mostly on Nyela and the psycho Rogue killer, too much so to think about Raphael's expression at the time.

"Do you have any idea," he began toward Unaril, "how long I've been trying to achieve what you have just now achieved? And now I've just facilitated your success over my own! Oh!" He threw his hands in the air. His dramatics were actually entertaining, and Unaril began to chuckle.

"I cannot wait to see your transformation," Joy smiled cheerfully, squeezing Raphael's shoulder and then heading back to the bar.

Unaril's laughter, almost entirely genuine, came as a relief. It wasn't gone, this side of him. Just dormant.

Raphael looked like he was about to start talking again, but his eyes caught onto something behind Unaril, and he perked a brow.

"I know every face in this bar, except those two," he pointed at two human men who had just walked through the front door and were making their way to a pair of empty seats.

"Surprising," Unaril grunted.

"Well, it _is_ my job to know everyth-"

"-I meant it's surprising you don't know them," Unaril quipped, leaning on one elbow and downing his whiskey sparingly.

Raphael simply flashed a wide grin, and with nothing better to do, the two of them watched the humans draw nearer and nearer. They both appeared to be in their thirties, one tall and broad-shouldered, with thick, loose and long sandy hair, and another smaller, clean-shaven man with sleek brunette locks pulled back past his ears and striking blue eyes. The two sat down close by at a small, round table, speaking in relaxed tones, seemingly quite happy, if tired.

"Hm. I like that one," Raphael hummed simply, nodding his head toward the shorter man. "Scratch that note; I like both. I'm going to talk to them."

Unaril comically glanced at the man, and he remained in his seat to observe as Raphael walked all of six steps to their table.

"Hello," Raphael leaned one hand on the tabletop, and Unaril lifted a brow at the sudden expressions of blank, inexplicable surprise on both humans' faces as they looked up at him. Raphael was unfazed by this, and he smiled.

"You come here often?" he asked comically.

Unaril nearly snorted whiskey through his sinuses, and he had to grab a handkerchief from his pocket to attempt to remedy the intense burning in his nose. _He used_ that _line?_

The brunette human's expression lit up, and with a mysterious grin, he whipped to face his friend, his brows arched in blatant excitement. His friend fell back in his seat in sudden, loud laughter, hand falling on his stomach as he shook his head.

"No!" the blonde man exclaimed, still laughing, and he shook his head at the smaller guy. "No, one is enough! Heavens!"

Confusion saturating Raphael's expression, he started laughing reluctantly along with them. It was about as awkward as being the only one on the outside of an inside joke.

The blonde man, still laughing, shook his head, placing his face into his palm, elbow on the table. Then he beckoned to Unaril and Raphael. "Come, both of you, have a drink with us."

Raphael turned and sent Unaril a 'that was easy' look, and took a seat. After a second of decision-making, Unaril grabbed his glass and headed over to the table as well, wondering what Raphael had gotten them into. Both humans were still ridiculously tickled by something neither elf could hope to understand, laughing themselves to pieces, especially the bigger one.

The blonde man reached a hand out to Unaril to shake his hand. "I'm," he glanced once at his friend, snickered, and looked back at Unaril, "I'm...Borf. Just Borf."

The shorter man immediately erupted into laughter again, and Unaril couldn't help but start laughing with them, though he was still confused.

"Unaril Dawnstar," he introduced himself, internally gawking at the name 'Borf' and how unfitting it was on this young man.

"Ahem, yes," the dark-haired human nodded for a second, "Borf is my co-worker. My name's York. York Hunt."

This time Raphael choked on his drink just as 'Borf' burst out laughing all over again.

"Pardon?" Raphael laughed in a raspy voice as he tried to clear his airways.

"York Hunt, and this is my friend Borf. We're not from around here."

Raphael looked torn between calling them out on their ridiculous, now obviously made-up names, or simply rolling with it, but he chose the latter. "York...Hunt," he made sure to emphasize the pause between the names, "and Borf. What brings you here to the Roseborne Tavern?"

Both men spoke at once, and both with different answers.

"Work," said the blonde.

"Pleasure," said York.

Raphael grabbed his drink in response and held it up, "May they always be one and the same."

York and Borf lifted theirs, laughing, and coaxed Unaril to toast his own as well. They all drank, and Raphael smiled his typical, gauging smirk, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

"Next round's on me, friends."

* * *

Unaril awoke with his mouth open, squished against his own arm, with a puddle of drool forming on his shirtsleeve. He inhaled, grunted, and wiped the side of his mouth on his sleeve in an attempt to dry his chin as he opened his eyes. He was in a dark room, sleeping face-down on what appeared to be an old, threadbare, poorly-cushioned and dusty sofa that was only half the length of his body, and one of his long legs was hanging entirely over the side.

For a second he assumed he was alone, but on the other side of the room he lay eyes on Raphael, who was in a similar predicament to himself. Raphael was still asleep, head hanging over the side of an armchair and mouth propped open in his sleep.

They were in Raphael's hideout, but not the basement part. They'd stumbled back and passed out on the old furniture in the run-down cover apartment last night, after paying farewell to the peculiar pair they'd met at the Roseborne. Raphael had been more than reluctant to end the night, but 'Borf' and "York' claimed they had somewhere they had to be. The two men had given Raphael and Unaril a wish of good fortune before parting ways. It was probably good they'd left when they did, because Unaril had no doubt that Raphael and that York fellow would have gotten them all into some form of trouble. They seemed to feed one another's egos like kindling, the two of them so similar it became eerie by the end of the night.

Unaril sat upright, swinging both his legs forward into a normal position, and immediately groaned at the swimming in his head and the nausea that bloomed as a result. He swore under his breath.

Raphael's voice came as a surprise, because his sleeping form had not moved, and yet with his words he was clearly awake.

"Thank the gods we're seeing Katerina tomorrow morning, and not today." His voice was deeper than usual, gravelly, and tired. He remained there with his head leaned back on the arm of the chair, face pointed skyward, eyes shut.

 _Right_ , Unaril thought to himself. _Haven't told him I'll not bother with time travel._

"I've put a lot of thought into that, actually," Unaril said after breathing deeply to cease the nausea, which worked for a moment.

"And by your tone, you've decided it cannot be done. Ethical lines to be crossed. I get it."

"What?" Unaril lifted one brow, staring at the rogue.

"By sending yourself into the past, you'll be changing everything, including the lives of everyone you know in this moment right now."

"You mean you recognized that would happen?"

"Of course I did," Raphael finally opened his eyes, which suddenly cast green flickers through the darkened room, and they fell on Unaril's and stayed there, rigid. "And, objectively, I was able to recognize that the only ones drawing the short straw would be Sarion and his progeny; the latter of whom will not exist, and the former of whom will not marry the woman you consider your wife. While that may to some seem unfair, I see it on the exact same level as that of a man whose wife and children were given to another man."

Unaril said nothing.

Raphael sniffed, looking back up at the ceiling. "Truly, they'll be happy, none the wiser, and you will have the life that was stolen from you."

"But I'll be changing the past thirty years. There are people who will, as you said, cease to exist entirely. Sarion and Nyela's daughter, for example. I cannot take that from them. That kind of power should not be toyed with."

"You're taking nothing," Raphael gave a quiet, single laugh. "Nothing, but what belongs rightly to you. However, if this is the decision you have chosen, I'll not fight it further. No one should have a greater say in what's best for you than you, yourself." A few seconds ticked by slowly. Raphael sat up straight in his armchair, giving a lighthearted sigh. "Well, then, looks like we're not seeing Miss Sunstepper after all. Her disappointment may sting," he snickered to himself.

Unaril opened his mouth to speak, but suddenly a loud, intense rapping came at the front door. The shoddy architecture shuddered under the knocking, and dust fell from the door, filling sunbeams that'd peeked through cracks in the wood. Raphael made a face of interest and stood, making for the door, but it swung open before he could reach it. A giant figure filled the doorway, silhouetted and unrecognizable save for the fact that it was most definitely Draenei. The sunlight made Unaril's head pound.

"Maverick, what brings you here?" Raphael questioned, and Unaril's brows arched.

The tall man stepped through the door, finally visible. His jet black curls fell down long over his shoulders, and his stern, sharp face regarded Raphael with concern. He seemed anxious in his quickened movements.

"We're running out of time," Maverick said quickly, swinging a large leather bag off of one shoulder and tossing it onto the only table surface in the entire room. He reached in and pulled out an armful of parchments, throwing them onto the table. "He's here, and I need your help."

"Slow down, boy," Raphael swept over beside the man as Unaril stood and approached as well. "What's wrong?" Raphael's eyes darted across the many papers Maverick had produced.

"Can't slow down," Maverick said, yanking out what looked like a drawing, a portrait of a man. "I'll lose the trail all over again. It's been years, and he's here, right here."

"Who?" Raphael took the portrait from the Draenei.

Maverick pointed at the drawing. "That's him. That's his face. The man who killed my mother. I've found him, and he's here. I know you have resources better than any guild on this side of the world. I need help."

"Killed your mother? Son, she died of a-"

"A headache? An aneurism? Yeah. Because of him. Because of what he did," Maverick jammed a finger at the sketch. "No one listened to me, but I've got him now."

Unaril peered at the drawing, and suddenly alarm gripped him.

"I've seen him," he announced in surprise, taking the paper and inspecting it to be sure. The drawing had captured the man's eyes, for sure. That cold, sharp glint. "I met this guy two nights ago in the inn where they held the wake. I don't always remember people I meet in bars, but this guy had something really off about him. He showed a keen interest in the time shard Katerina keeps."

Maverick and Raphael both stared at him, expressions varying between surprised and intrigued.

"His name?" Maverick asked, his silver eyes wide in anticipation.

"Alistair," he said in certainty, recalling the conversation they'd had, the weirdness of it all. "Alistair Clement."


End file.
